Potter's Clay
by reading
Summary: Sam has special needs and is taken by Lucifer.
1. Chapter 1

This was written for a prompt on Oh!Sam on LJ.

Prompt: AU. Sam had an accident when he was a child. He has special needs. John is dead and Dean and Bobby still hunt; everything is like it is now but with Sam having special needs. Dean finds out about Adam, Sam is kidnapped by Lucifer, both brothers help him though the aftermath.

xxxx

_It had taken only a minute or two of inattention. Dad's. Dean's. An unwillingness to look up from the page, away from the television. By the time they'd realized the door was open, it had been too late. Frantic searching, shouts and tears and Sam floating face-down in the dirty pool just yards from their room._

_In the weeks that followed, Sam had seemed to recover, slowly but surely regaining the energy and vibrancy of a typical four-year-old boy. What hadn't been clear originally – what wouldn't be clear for months – was that mentally Sam hadn't been recovering at all. _

_Dad had only blamed Dean once out loud. They'd been in the emergency room—Sammy taken from them, standing side-by-side, frozen and dazed—when without warning Dad had whirled, grabbing Dean hard by the shoulders, shaking him. "You were supposed to be watching him!"_

_Dean hadn't been able to respond, the truth of those words muting him._

_Later Dad had taken it back. _

_Bobby had told Dean it wasn't been his fault multiple times. _

_So had Pastor Jim. _

_But Dean knew the truth. He always had._

xxxx

"Dean, wha's this?"

"What's what, Sammy?" Dean asked, distractedly. He slid his eyes away from the television and to his brother.

Sam crawled awkwardly up from the foot of the bed, something clutched in one hand. "This," he said, holding a small square of paper toward Dean for his inspection.

Dean reached out, taking the picture.

"Tha's Dad, huh?" Sam said, settling against the headboard next to Dean. "Who's that boy?"

It _was_ Dad, arm around the shoulders of a kid younger than Sam. Both Dad and the boy were smiling somewhat uncomfortably. But their dimples matched. And when Dean looked at his brother, the same indentations flashed at him when Sam smiled.

"Do we know that boy?" Sam asked. He leaned forward to peer at the photo, head and hair obscuring Dean's view. Dean took the opportunity to thump his own head against the wall behind him.

"I don't think so, Sammy," Dean said tightly, moving Sam's enormous melon out of the way. "Where did you find this?"

Sam didn't answer, but scrambled off the mattress, almost tripping as he ran out of the room.

While Sam was gone, Dean turned the photo over. "Adam. 2002."

"It was in here, in Dad's treasure chest," Sam told Dean breathlessly as he came back into Dean's room, placing the box carefully in Dean's lap. "At the bottom." He bit his lip, thinking hard. "That's where pirates put their most important treasures, right, Dean? At the very bottom where no one else can find them?"

There'd been a box shoved under the seat of their father's truck that Dean had handed off to Sam when they'd cleaned it out after John's death. It had been full of crumpled papers and a small stack of photos. Sam had always loved pictures, and Dean couldn't have borne them at the time.

Sam, of course, had decided the box was a treasure chest. He was constantly squirreling things away in it – rocks or string or McDonald's Happy Meal toys he thought worthy. Dean had never thought about what had happened to the pictures. Hadn't been able to.

Dean swallowed hard, not answering. The bed rocked as Sam bounced back onto it and clambered over Dean's outstretched legs to the empty side. Out of habit, Dean ignored him and sifted through the bits and pieces of stuff in the box, searching for the pictures. When he uncovered them, Dean flipped through the photos quickly. Until he got to the last few in the stack.

There were four snapshots in all. The first was the one Sam had brought him of the boy at about 12. In the others, the boy ranged upward in age, each photo depicting the kid with Dad—a fishing trip, a baseball field, the Impala—on the back of each, the same name and a different date. Across the last one was scrawled 2006.

"Who is he, Dean?" Sam was in his space again, practically in his lap, plucking at the pictures, turning them over. "A. D. A. M." He mouthed the letters carefully. "What does that spell?"

"Adam," Dean said gruffly, taking them back.

Sam surrendered the pictures easily enough. "Is Adam that boy's name?" he asked. "Does he know Daddy?" Abruptly Sam's face clouded. "I mean. Did he know Daddy? Before Dad died?" he amended.

"Looks like, kiddo," Dean said wearily.

"Do we know him?"

Dean stared at the pictures in his hands. Dad. And Adam. Dad…

"Dean, do we…?"

"No," Dean bit out.

"No," Sam repeated dutifully. He shrugged. "'K," he said, interest forgotten. He flopped onto his belly, pointing himself toward the TV on Dean's dresser.

xxxx

It took Dean a few months to track Adam down.

He started with the journal, looking for clues around the time Dean figured the boy in the photos might have been…conceived. (_And, you know, ew._) Dad had been in Windom, Minnesota in early 1990. Some research into the case John had been working on had eventually led to a hospital stay and a nurse named Kate Milligan.

Dean remembered. He'd been about to turn 11 when Dad had dropped them at Bobby's with a promise to be back in time for Dean's birthday. He'd barely made it. Now Dean guessed he knew why.

Dean peered out the windshield of the Impala at the boy slouching down the street. He was about Dean's height, though maybe a little taller (_dammit_) and with hair that was a little lighter than either Dean's or Sam's. He was still just a kid, kind of skinny and awkward as he made his way up the sidewalk.

Sam looked up from the truck he was running up and down his thigh. "Is Adam a bad guy?" Sam asked curiously. "He doesn't look bad," Sam observed, squinting toward the boy. He looked at Dean.

Dean shook his head. "He's not a bad guy, Sammy," he said, not bothering to remind Sam about who the kid was. The house Adam was entering was dark in the gray evening. The porch light went on as the front door closed; windows deeper in the house lit up.

Dean bit his lip and opened the door of the Impala.

Sam followed him out.

"Where we goin', Dean?"

Dean studied the house. "We're going to meet Adam," he said.

Sam's forehead furrowed as he thought. "From the pictures with Dad?" he finally asked, remembering again. Sam's head didn't always hold information well.

"Yep," said Dean. He turned to his brother. "If he knew Dad, don't you want to know him, too?" He'd tried to explain to Sam about Adam maybe (_probably_) being their brother, but Sam hadn't seemed able to grasp the concept of "brother" that wasn't Dean.

Sam's face lit up. "Yeah!"

Dean huffed out a sigh, but couldn't help the smile at Sam's enthusiasm. He started up the sidewalk. "Hey, Sammy," he said with a glance at his brother. "You let me talk first, OK?"

Sam bobbed his head obligingly. "'K." He jogged up the steps ahead of Dean. "C'n I ring the doorbell?"

"Sure," Dean said, doing his best to ignore the twist of nerves in his gut.

Sam rang the bell and let Dean pull him back behind him.

The door opened.

"Yeah?"

Up close, Dean could see the stamp of his father even more clearly on the kid's features, and it made his stomach churn even more. He cleared his throat.

"Hi," Sam said from behind him. He gave a little wave.

Adam's eyes went to Sam, a small, curious smile crinkling his eyes. "Hi," he said.

"Uh, hey," Dean finally managed. "You're, uh, Adam Milligan?"

"Yeah," the kid said, drawing out the word questioningly.

"We're John Winchester's sons," Dean said. "I'm Dean, and this is Sam." He hooked a thumb at Sam over his shoulder and sensed rather than saw Sam wave again.

Adam's eyes went wide. In the porch light, Dean could see that Adam had paled slightly. "Oh." The kid swallowed loud enough that Dean heard the wet sound of his throat convulse. "Hi."

The three of them stared at each other. Dean wasn't sure what to say next.

"Is this your house?" Sam asked, looking around the porch, fascinated. "It's pretty." He smiled at their brother.

"Yeah," Adam said. His brow wrinkled slightly as he contemplated Sam uncertainly. "You guys, uh, want to come it?"

"OK!" Sam agreed. He moved to pass Dean.

Dean put an arm out to block Sam's forward progress. "Thanks," Dean said to Adam. He gave Sam a look. "Cool it," he muttered. Sam's lower lip thrust out, but he waited until Dean entered the house before he followed, scuffing the soles of his tennis shoes as he went.

They trailed Adam into the living room, and then the three of them stood there, staring at one another some more. Dean knew he should probably be the one to break the silence. He was the oldest, after all. He was the one who had shown up on the kid's front porch and introduced himself and Sam, complete strangers to this son of their father. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Dean was aware of Sam beside him, could see his brother's head swiveling around, taking everything in, always curious. Suddenly Sam moved, walking toward a bookshelf before Dean could stop him.

"Dean," he said excitedly. "Look, Dean. It's Dad!" He turned confused eyes to Adam. "Did you know our Dad?"

Dean spoke as gently as he could in spite of his frustration. "Sam, remember we talked about this? Adam…" He looked at Adam, who was watching him almost as if he were scared. _Oh, what the hell._ "Adam's our brother." Dean saw Adam suck in a surprised breath. "Our dad was his dad, too." He paused. "Right?" he asked Adam softly. Adam swallowed, and his chin dipped unsteadily.

Sam's face cleared. "Oh, yeah." He turned to stare openly at Adam. "I forgot."

"'s OK, Sammy. Come over here with me, alright?"

Obediently, Sam returned to Dean's side.

Dean cleared his throat. "So. We… ." He stopped. "Could we, uh, sit down?"

Adam nodded, gesturing awkwardly toward the sofa as he perched on a chair across from them. When they sat, Sam pressed close, remembering now, Dean thought, why they were here.

"What's going on?" Adam asked.

From Adam's expression, Dean knew that the kid had clued into the fact that something was wrong.

"Is Da- Is… he OK? I haven't… I haven't seen him in…." There was fear in his eyes and, damn, if Dean couldn't help the twinge of pity for the kid. Even if part of him was screaming that this boy had no right.

Dean drew in a breath. "I'm sorry, Adam. He's not." He swallowed against the tightness in his throat, looked down at the floor and then back at his… _crap_… at his youngest brother. "He died a few months ago."

Sam had gone still next to him, one hand curling into the sleeve of Dean's jacket.

Adam blinked furiously, face pale. "Oh." He didn't say anything for a minute. "How?" he finally asked hoarsely.

"Car accident."

"Oh," Adam said again.

Dean waited to see if the kid would ask anything else, and when he didn't Dean went on. "We didn't know about you. Dad never…" Dean broke off.

"We found some pictures of you," Sam said softly. "Of you and Daddy. That's how Dean figured it out." Sam's fingers skittered against the inside of Dean's elbow, clutching, strong and insistent even through the fabric of Dean's coat.

Adam wiped a hand down his face and glanced between Sam and Dean. "He told me about you. Not… Not a lot. But that he had two other sons."

"Oh." It was Dean's turn, evidently. He wasn't sure where to take the conversation from here.

"I'm thirsty," Sam announced.

Adam shifted his gaze from Dean to Sam. "You want some water? Or a Coke?"

"Coke," Sam said at the same time Dean said, "Water."

Adam blinked and opened his mouth.

"Sam," Dean said.

"Water," Sam conceded with a pout.

Adam rose. "I'll get it."

As the kid left the room, Dean got up, too. "Stay here, Sammy, OK?" he said, when Sam moved to follow him. "You hear me?"

Sam fell back on the couch. "'K."

When he entered the kitchen, Dean saw that Adam had pulled a glass out of the cabinet and was getting ice from the freezer. He looked a little shaky.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you about Dad this way," Dean said.

Adam gave him a red-rimmed glance and looked away quickly. "'s not your fault." He moved toward the sink and snorted softly. He shot Dean another look. "I guess it must kind of suck to find out you have a bastard brother the way you did," he said with surprising bitterness.

Dean didn't respond to that. Not sure how to. "It just you and your mom?" Dean asked instead, taking the glass from Adam and turning on the tap.

Adam gave it up, moving back slightly. He cleared his throat, wiping at his eyes. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Mostly just me," he said. He met Dean's eyes briefly, looked away. "Mom works a lot. Night shifts at the hospital."

Dean nodded, turned off the faucet.

Adam bit his lip, eyes on the door into the living room. Dean could hear Sam in the front of the house, the steady patter of a conversation he was having with himself drifting down the hall.

"Is Sam…is he…?" Adam started hesitantly.

Dean swallowed back the automatic surge of anger/resentment he always felt when people asked about Sam. But it wasn't fair to take that out on Adam; he was their brother, God help them all. He had a right to know. Dean took a steadying breath. "He almost drowned when he was four. He never…" Dean shook his head.

Adam nodded. "Dad didn't say…." He paused. "Is he OK?"

Dean lifted a shoulder, ignored the stab of whatever-it-was at Adam's use of "Dad." "Yeah," Dean said. "For the most part. He's just…four, basically. And he's not ever going to…" He didn't finish.

Ninety-nine percent of the time Dean was fine with who Sam was, with who Sam was always going to be. He'd gotten over the anger and the sadness and the guilt (mostly) years ago. It was what it was, and there was no point wringing his hands and wailing about the unfairness of it all.

But there were still times, like now, standing here with Adam—Sam's dimples and earnest hazel eyes—where Dean felt the tug of his own bitterness pull at him. When he couldn't help but wonder what Sam would have been like at 18, if he'd been whole. What he'd be like now at 25 with the mind he'd been born with.

Dean forced himself to shake it off, smiled tightly at the kid next to him. "He's OK."

"Deaaaaaaaaaaan!" Sam's whine carried clearly into the kitchen. "Can I come in there? I don' wanna be out here anymore!"

Dean snorted. _Alone _was not something Sam did often or well. "Yeah, Sammy," he called. "Come on, kiddo."

Sam gamboled into the kitchen. "I'm hungry, too, now," he announced, taking the glass of water Dean offered him.

"Yeah. Course you are," Dean said. He looked at Adam. "You hungry?"

The kid smiled, shy and pleased. "Yeah."

xxxx

They ate at a spot Adam recommended. It had incredible cheese burgers, amazing onion rings, and cold beer on tap. Dean approved.

After a damn awkward start, gradually they managed a fairly easy sort of conversation. Adam, it turned out, was graduating high school in the spring and planning on college—pre-med no less.

"What about you?" Adam asked. "Did you go to college?"

"Nah," Dean said, popping an onion ring in his mouth. "Not your sleeve, man," he reminded Sam, who grinned sheepishly and reached for the napkin Dean pointed to. "Just wasn't really doable," he continued with a shrug.

Adam nodded. "What do you do?"

Dean shrugged again. Evidently, Dad hadn't been forthcoming about that aspect of his life with his youngest son.

"I work with our uncle—he's got a junkyard." He poured half of a second shake he'd gotten for Sam into his own glass, ignoring his brother's squawk of protest and grabby hands. "We stayed with him a lot growing up. While Dad was traveling."

"Uncle?"

"Uncle Bobby!" Sam caroled.

Dean couldn't help the smile at Sam's delight. "Not biologically, but close enough."

"What's working in a junkyard like?" Adam was looking at him curiously over the rim of his own milkshake.

Dean shrugged. "It's OK. Fixing up cars, doing the books, hauling wrecks in. Different stuff."

"Huh." Adam wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He peered at Sam. "What do you do, Sam?"

"I help Dean," Sam said proudly.

Adam slanted a glance at Dean. "Yeah?" he said with a smile back again at Sam.

"Uh-huh," Sam said importantly. "I hand him tools and stuff and make sure he doesn't get lonely when he has to go get old cars."

"That's cool," Adam agreed.

"'n sometimes I stay 'n' help Uncle Bobby when Dean hasta go on a trip. Uncle Bobby says he doesn't know what he'd do without me when Dean's gone."

"I bet."

They all ate in silence a little while.

"So. You don't do what Dad did?" Adam ventured eventually.

Dean froze. "What Dad did?" he asked cautiously.

"He said he did investigative stuff. Wouldn't really tell me what, but said it meant he traveled a lot."

Dean considered, then nodded carefully. "Yeah. I do that some. Mostly I help Bobby, though."

"What kind of investigation do you do?" Adam asked.

"What did Dad tell you?" Dean hedged.

Adam frowned. "He wouldn't tell me anything."

Dean raised an eyebrow at the kid.

The frown deepened to a scowl. And, really, it was disturbing how much Adam looked like Sammy when he did that. "Why won't you tell me?" Adam demanded.

Dean wondered if the kid had tried this with Dad at any point. And what Dad's reaction had been. Scratch that. Dean knew exactly what Dad's reaction would have been.

"Look, Adam." Dean dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out Sam's meds. "What we do… it's complicated." He opened the bottle and shook out two pills. "If Dad didn't want you involved, I think I should respect that." He held out his hand and dropped the pills into Sam's outstretched palm. "Use the milkshake, Sammy," he told him.

With a grimace, Sam put the pills on his tongue and drained the rest of the shake, face contorting as he downed the whole thing. When he finished he put his head in his hands. "M' head," he muttered, huffing when Dean laughed and ruffled his hair.

"Well, you didn't need to drink the whole thing in one gulp, you doofus. Let's see," Dean said, and Sam opened his mouth wide wiggling his tongue madly at his brother.

"A' gone?" Sam asked, somehow managing not to close mouth around the words.

"Yep. Good job."

Sam snapped his teeth together and beamed, brain freeze thawed. He refocused his attention on his onion rings.

"What…?" Adam was watching Sam, distracted by the medication routine. "What are the meds for?"

"Seizures," Dean said.

Adam nodded, scowl mostly gone, but brow still wrinkled slightly. He ate a couple of his own onion rings.

Dean thought the conversation was over.

"What does 'complicated' mean?"

Evidently not.

Dean sighed. "It means… 'complicated.' It means I'm not going to talk about it with you."

Glaring from across the table.

"Dean and Dad kill bad things," Sam said into the angry silence that had fallen. Dean realized belatedly that his little brother had snaked the last of Dean 's milkshake, and was slurping it smugly.

Dean blinked. _Well. Crap._ "Sam," he growled.

Adam's eyes were like saucers. "Kill?" he repeated, voice cracking.

"Monsters," Sam added, nodding over his straw.

_What the hell? _"Sam. Shut up."

The kid knew better than this. He did. They'd all – Dean and Dad and Bobby – protected Sam from as much of the hunt as they could. But shit happened and Sam had been exposed to the realities of what his family did on more than one occasion over the years. But he'd also been drilled and trained and reminded not to talk about it – that the Winchesters (and Bobby) did what they did and they shut up about it. End of story.

Sam flinched at Dean's tone and the volume of the order, but his face set. "Adam's our brother," he mumbled. Sam looked from Dean to Adam and back again. "It's the family business," he said.

"Sam," Dean said sharply. There were times….

Sam hunched his shoulders, refusing to look at Dean. His own version of defiance.

"You know the rules," Dean said to his little brother. "You can talk about it to me and Bobby." Here, Dean frowned at Adam, who was still staring at both of them like they had two heads. "That's it. You got it?"

"Bu- ,"

"No, Sam. Me and Uncle Bobby. Period."

Sam's lip thrust out. "'K," he said sullenly, with a sidelong glance at Adam.

Dean nodded.

"Wh - ," Adam started.

But Dean shook his head. "Not here." He pulled some cash out of his pocket and tossed it at the bill. "Come on."

xxxx

In the end, Dean just told Adam. He had his reservations, especially considering Dad's refusal to tell the kid, but after what Sam had said, there wasn't going to be any way to put that particular cat back in the bag. So now Adam would know. But Dean could still keep him out of it.

When they got to Adam's, Dean got Sam settled in front of the television. Back in the kitchen, Dean laid it out for Adam in Technicolor.

To his credit, Adam took it all in without comment. He had some questions – good ones, even, thoughtful ones – then asked, "Is that what really killed Dad?"

It took Dean a minute before he could speak. He cleared his throat. "I don't know," he answered. "I mean. It was a car accident that killed him – 18-wheeler t-boned him – but I'm not sure what he'd been working on. We hadn't talked to him in months."

"Was that not… usual?" Adam's voice was soft, and Dean realized with a start that it probably was for this kid.

_Damn, Dad._

"Not really," Dean said. "A couple, three weeks sometimes. But never that long without a word."

"Dean!" Sam yelled. "My show is over!"

"OK, tiger," Dean called back. "Why don't you hit the head before we get on the road?"

"OK!"

"We oughta go," Dean said.

"You could stay here," Adam offered. "We've got an extra room."

Dean thought about it, but shook his head. The idea of having to interact with Adam's mother… Dean just wasn't up for it. Not tonight.

"Nah. Thanks, though." He stood.

Adam followed him to the front of the house.

"Well." Dean held out his hand.

Adam shook it. "Yeah." The kid bit his lip. "It was nice to meet you," he said.

"Yeah," Dean said. "We'll keep in touch, OK?"

Adam's face brightened. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"Bye, Adam," Sam said, returning from the bathroom. He stepped up and engulfed Adam in a hug.

Adam sucked in a harsh breath – surprised and probably in some pain given the enthusiasm of Sam's embrace. "Bye, Sammy," he managed.

As they went out the door, Dean put a hand on the nape of Sam's neck, guiding him down the stairs and along the walk to the car. When Dean turned, Adam stood in the doorway, a lone silhouette against the mostly darkened house. The kid raised a hand, and Dean returned the gesture.

Adam was still watching as the Impala pulled away.

xxxx


	2. Chapter 2

_xxxx_

_Chapter 2_

_xxxx_

Over the next few months Dean and Sam exchanged texts or emails or sometimes phone calls with their youngest brother. The kid clearly craved the contact, and the depth and detail of his conversations increased significantly as he realized that Dean and Sam were interested in what was going on with him. Even so, it came as a surprise to Dean when they got an invitation to Adam's graduation.

"Are you gonna go?" Bobby dropped a stack of pancakes on Sam's plate.

Dean shrugged from his seat at the table. "I dunno," he said. "Seems weird." He took a sip of coffee.

"How's that?" The next stack went on Dean's plate.

"Hard to avoid his mom if we show up," Dean said setting down his mug to start on the pancakes.

"Seein' his mom would be weird?" Bobby put his own breakfast on a plate.

"Uh. Yeah?" Dean duhed.

"Why?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at Bobby. "You really need me to explain that to you?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Grow up, boy."

"I wanna see Adam," Sam said, dropping a piece of bacon into the waiting maw of Bobby's Rottie, Rummel.

"He sent that invitation because he wants his brothers to be there," Bobby said pointedly.

"We're his brothers," Sam reminded Dean helpfully, giving the adoring dog an approving pat.

xxxx

"Dean! Sam!"

Adam was pushing his way through the crowd of graduates and their families, a small blonde woman trailing after him.

"Adam!" Sam called, bouncing up and down and waving.

"Hey, man," Dean smiled, reaching out to shake the kid's hand. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Adam took Sam's bear hug in stride, prepared this time for its bruising nature.

When he was released, Adam turned to the woman behind him. "This is, uh…. This is my mom."

"Hey." Dean put on his most polite smile as he held out his hand. He'd been right. This was so weird. "I'm, uh, Dean. Dean Winchester."

The smile on the woman's face managed to be both amused and sad. "Hi, Dean." Her hand was cool and dry. "I'm Kate." She paused. "I'm sorry about your Dad."

Dean felt his smile fade some. He cleared his throat. "Thanks. This is Sam."

Sam was doing the bashful-thing now, trying without much success to hide behind Dean.

Kate didn't seem offended. Just tilted her head to try and catch Sam's eyes. "Hi, Sam," she said quietly. "Adam's told me a lot about you."

Sam's eyes flickered to Adam. He looked back at Kate. "He has?" Shyly pleased.

"He has. Says you really liked the shakes and onion rings at Doc's the last time you were here."

Dean felt Sam's fingers pluck at the back of Dean's dress shirt, questioning.

"He did," Dean answered. He turned toward Sam, stepping to the side. "Remember, Sammy? That's where we ate with Adam when we were here before."

"Oh, yeah," Sam agreed. He tried to scuttle behind Dean again, but stopped when Dean put a hand on his arm, stilling him.

"We were thinking about heading over there to celebrate," Kate went on. "Would you two like to join us?"

For once, Sam let Dean answer, picking up – as he did sometimes – on his brother's discomfort. But Dean accepted the invitation in spite of his misgivings. He knew it would mean something to Adam. "That would be nice. Thank you."

The meal was as dreadful as Dean had feared, full of cringe-inducing silences and odd hostile glances at Kate by Adam. To make matters worse Dean couldn't stop watching Kate—covertly, he hoped. Though what he was looking for Dean couldn't have said. Things that reminded him of his mother? He felt stuck somehow on the idea that his father wouldn't have slept with this woman if she hadn't reminded him of Mary.

John Winchester had been single-minded in his pursuit of the thing that had killed his wife – Dean had no memory of his father ever even looking at another woman. On some levels Dean knew that was ridiculous, but he honestly couldn't remember John exhibiting any interest in the various women they had come into contact with over the years. Obviously Dean hadn't been paying close enough attention.

"So I'm thinking I might travel around the country this summer," Adam said suddenly into yet another awkward silence. He didn't look at his mother. Looked directly at Dean.

"Yeah?" Dean asked cautiously. He glanced at Kate.

"We've talked about this, Adam. I don't…." Kate was frowning unhappily at her son.

"I don't know why you care," Adam cut her off. "It's not like you're really around." He said it so carelessly, it was clearly meant to wound.

Sam's eyes were moving from Adam to Kate and back again unhappily, not liking the conflict, as attuned to the tension as Dean was.

Kate's jaw tightened. "That's not the point, Adam. It's danger-,"

Adam made an impatient scoffing noise. He'd clearly heard it before. "Lots of people travel around the country without being attacked by serial killers, Mom." He paused. "Dean does."

Dean almost choked on an onion ring. "Uh, I-,"

"Dean's not my concern," his mother said sharply. She gave Dean a quick apologetic glance. "And he's an adult. You…"

"_I'm_ an adult. I'm 18. And I'm out of school. Why…?"

"We're not having this conversation again," Kate interrupted him. "Not here."

Dean could tell Kate was annoyed she'd let herself get drawn into the argument one more time. Especially in front of Dean and Sam.

"Bu-." Evidently Adam wasn't ready to let it go quite yet.

"Your mom said she didn't want to talk about it anymore," Dean interjected curtly, not really thinking before he spoke. Unconsciously Dean pinned Adam with the same look he often leveled at Sam when his younger brother got fixated on a topic. "Drop it."

Adam blinked, face flushing. He met Dean's gaze hotly. Then looked away.

Another strained silence fell.

"You sound like Daddy when you do that," Sam whispered. His fingers were ghosting over Dean's shirt sleeve. It may or may not have been meant as a reproach, but Dean still felt it as such.

No one said anything for an interminable few minutes – Adam seething, Sam uneasy.

The quiet began to get on Dean's nerves. He cleared his throat. "When does school start for you?" He asked the question directly to Adam.

The kid dragged his eyes back to Dean, still fuming. "August," he said sullenly.

"Maybe," Dean said slowly, not sure why he was stepping into this, but apparently not able to stop himself either. "Maybe you could come spend some time with me and Sam before you start." Dean looked at Kate. "If it's OK with you," he said. "I'm sure you want to spend time with Adam before he leaves, but maybe for a couple of weeks?"

"Yes!" Sam agreed enthusiastically, earlier uncertainty forgotten. He turned the full force of his excitement on Kate. "Please! Could Adam please come visit us? It won't be dangerous with Uncle Bobby! And Dean will keep him safe – Dean always keeps me safe. We…"

"Sammy," Dean said as repressively as he could. "Kiddo, give Kate have some time to think, OK?" He put an arm around Sam's shoulder, and Sam subsided happily into him, nodding eagerly.

"'K," he agreed. "But please?" he said to Kate one last time.

Kate smiled rather grimly at Sam. She wasn't pleased to be put in this position. And Dean really couldn't blame her.

"Just as an option," Dean reassured her with a glance at his youngest brother.

Adam had stayed quiet since the offer had been made, and he was currently glowering at both his mother and Dean.

"We'll see," she said.

xxxx

Ultimately, Kate had agreed to the visit. Adam, frankly, hadn't been thrilled with the way the suggestion had been made – that Dean had made the offer to his mother. Like Adam was some kid whose mother made his freaking _play dates_. But when forced to choose between staying at home all summer and getting the chance to hang out with his brothers (because his mother was no-way-no-how going to agree to his cross-country trip plan), a few weeks with Dean and Sam won hands down.

He arrived Fourth of July and made the trip to Bobby's with Dean and Sam for fireworks in a field behind the house. "Uncle" Bobby sat in a lawn chair with a cooler for a side table, drinking beer and offering suggestions as Dean and Adam set off what seemed like the county's full supply of fireworks.

Sam sat cross-legged at Bobby's feet, head tilted back, face alight with wonder, crowing with delight and demanding, "More, Dean, more!" and "Do it again!" until Dean shook the empty bags and boxes upside down in front of him as proof that they truly were all gone.

"That was awesome," Sam sighed.

Adam agreed.

It was a pretty easy-going lifestyle at the Winchesters. Dean and Sam had a house less than a half-mile from Bobby's junk yard. And while apparently they slept at their own place as long as Dean was in town, they seemed to eat a lot of their meals at Bobby's, wandering in for breakfast or supper almost as often as they ate at home. As far as Adam could tell Bobby didn't seem to mind, grumbling at them without heat if they were late, seemingly always prepared for their presence, because every time they'd shown up, there'd been plenty of food. If it had taken Rummel (the dog's real name was Rumsfeld, but evidently Sam had blurred it into Rummel early on) a little while to get used to Adam's presence, the rest of the group had absorbed him without so much as a blink.

When he'd realized Adam knew about the monsters, Bobby had heaved a sigh, but taken it in stride, answering whatever questions Adam had and making it his business to give Adam at least the basics of identifying and protecting oneself against the different nasties Bobby and Dean fought.

It hadn't taken too long for Adam to settle into the Winchesters' routine.

Though it hadn't all been easy.

xxxx

"…_an' then… an' thhennnn, Baby Jack-Jack exploded!"_

_Adam had never seen The Incredibles, and Sam found that to be a less than satisfactory situation. Until they could rent the movie, he was determined to tell Adam the entire story. Scene by scene._

"_Oh, yeah?" In spite himself, Adam was intrigued. The plot wasn't all that easy to follow as Sam told it, but it sounded pretty cool. Plus Dean had filled in the missing bits along the way._

"_Yeah," Sam assured him. "But…."_

_When Sam jerked violently to the side and out of his chair, Adam toppled off his own seat in surprise._

"_Crap!" Dean's lunge just missed catching Sam, and the crack of Sam's head against the floor sounded horrible._

_Adam scrambled up, moving toward his brothers as fast as he could, but he wasn't sure how to help. Sam was convulsing rhythmically, long legs and arms thrashing frighteningly._

"_Dea –,"_

"_Watch his legs," Dean ordered tightly, sliding under Sam's torso, cushioning his brother's head against his own chest, hands trying to keep Sam's arms from knocking against the table. "You don't need to hold 'em, just try to keep him from hurting himself."_

_Adam did the best he could, putting himself between Sam's kicking legs and the hard surfaces and edges of the cabinets. He blocked first one foot and then the other as they struck out._

"_You're OK, kiddo, you're OK. Not too long."_

_For a heartbeat Adam thought Dean was talking to him. But when he looked up in response, he realized how stupid that had been. Dean had his face tucked in close to Sam's ear, murmuring the reassurances in a calm, measured voice. But, in spite of the fact that the words weren't meant for him, Adam found himself relaxing at the steady tone and utter confidence in Dean's voice._

_It wasn't too long. At least not by the clock. When the spastic movement of Sam's legs finally stopped, Adam stayed vigilant until he felt Dean's hand on his shoulder._

"_That's got it, kiddo," Dean said softly._

_Adam relaxed slowly, eyes tracking up Dean's arm to where his brother sat, one hand now steadying Sam's head against his shoulder, while he'd reached the other over to give Adam a gentle shake._

"_Thanks, bud," Dean added._

"_Is- is he OK?" Adam's heart was just starting to settle._

"_Yeah," Dean sighed. He pulled a hand through Sam's hair. "It's just a seizure. He gets them sometimes. Even with the meds."_

_When Sam's legs moved sluggishly, Adam sucked in a breath, bracing himself for another round._

"_D'n?" Sam's voice was tremulous, uncertain._

"_Hey, Sammy," Dean soothed. He eased out from behind his brother, and lay Sam down on the floor. He put a hand against Sam's cheek. "Can you open your eyes for me?"_

_Sam tried, lids cracking open just enough to catch a bare sliver of hazel and white._

"_D'n." Not a question this time. "'d'm?" Sam's head came up slightly as he curled awkwardly onto one side._

_Startled, Dean looked over at Adam, a strange, pleased-seeming smile lighting his face. Adam felt his stomach do a slow flip-flop. "Yeah, kiddo. Adam's here, too." He put a hand under Sam's elbow. "He's gonna help me get you up to bed."_

"_Onna s'eep hre," Sam slurred, trying to curl in tighter on himself. "M'head…."_

_Dean sighed, brushing gentle fingers over the spot where Sam's head had hit the floor. "I know it hurts, tiger. I'm sorry." He shook his head and looked at Adam. "This was so much easier when I could just pick him up."_

_Adam couldn't help the laugh._

"_Take his other arm," Dean said as he levered a grumbling, whining Sam into a sitting position. "Once we get him moving, it gets better."_

_They heaved Sam upright, both getting shoulders under his armpits. When Dean and Adam took steps forward, Sam lurched along with them, feet staggering to keep him standing._

_It wasn't until then that Adam noticed the smell. He looked down. "Uh, Dean…?"_

_Dean didn't even slow. "I know. I'll get it later. Right now I want to get him cleaned up and in bed. He usually sleeps a couple of hours, but he might sleep through the whole night given what time it is. The seizures really knock him out."_

_Somehow they manhandled Sam through a bath and into bed._

_While Dean got Sam settled, Adam gathered up Sam's clothes and went ahead and cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. After starting a load of laundry, he headed for the bathroom, planning on changing his own clothes. But he paused when he passed Sam's room._

"_D'n," Sam's murmur just reached the door where Adam had hesitated._

"_Yeah, kiddo," Dean responded quietly. He was sitting on the bed, one hand resting lightly on Sam's head, where it was tucked toward Dean's hip._

"'_m sorry," Sam mumbled._

"_Hey. What've we said about 'sorry'?" Dean asked softly. He flicked a finger lightly against Sam's earlobe._

_Sam slurred a soft giggle. "Don' need it."_

"_That's right. I don't need it."_

_Sam hummed a sigh. After a pause he asked, "D's Ad'm?"_

_Adam startled, caught when Dean turned toward where he was, eavesdropping. Without speaking, Adam just shook his head._

"_Adam doesn't need it either, Sammy."_

xxxx

Adam had been there a little over two weeks when the first "job" call came in.

"I don't know, Bobby," Dean said. "It's a two man gig."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. He pointed at Dean and then at himself.

Dean returned the raised eyebrow and added a head tilt toward Sam. "And?"

Bobby looked at Adam.

Adam blinked. "Uh. Yeah." Once he'd said the "yeah," Adam realized he meant it. "Sure, man, I can hang out with Sam." He looked over at Sam, who was focused intently on his ice cream.

Dean frowned slightly, but Adam could see he was considering.

"What do you think, Sammy?" Dean said. "You want to hang out with Adam for a few days?"

Sam looked up from his bowl, a smear of chocolate sauce on his chin. "We been hanging out," he said cheerfully.

"Yeah, you have," Dean agreed. "But what about just you and Adam? While Bobby and me go do a job?"

Sam's brow wrinkled. He looked at Adam. "Just me an' Adam?" he repeated, clarifying.

Adam nodded, but he let Dean answer.

"Yeah," Dean said. "What do you think?"

"Cool," Sam said. And went back to his dessert.

Bobby smiled. "Well, I guess that's that."

xxxx

Sam had waved Dean and Bobby off with hardly a glance up from the page he was coloring. Neither man had seemed to mind, comings and goings fairly routine among the three men. Dean clapped Adam on the back and said with a grin, "Just call if you need to, OK?" Adam thought he must've looked nervous or something because Dean paused long enough to grip his shoulder and give him a slight shake. "Don't sweat it, kiddo. He's really pretty easy." Here he nodded at Sam. "And he trusts you. That means a lot."

Adam felt himself flush and ducked his head. The hold loosened, and Dean called, "See you soon, Sammy! Mind Adam."

And he was gone.

So far Adam thought he and Sam had done alright. Dean and Bobby had been gone just over five days, and if it felt strange at 18 to be in charge of his 25 year old brother, Adam had found that thinking of Sam as a little kid had helped with some of the disconnect between the 6' 4" man Sam was and a lot of his brother's behavior.

They'd had a few hiccups along the way, times when Sam had refused to do what he should've and one memorable episode when Sam had locked himself in the bathroom for almost an hour tearfully vowing not to brush his teeth until Dean got home. It had taken Adam that long to figure out how to take the door off its hinges and realize that the real issue hadn't been Sam's brushing his teeth, but brushing them alone. When Adam had stood beside him at the sink, Sam had grinned through the remnants of his tears and scrubbed happily along in rhythm with Adam.

Just in case, Adam left the door where it was, leaning up against the wall in the hallway.

Sam actually was pretty easy once you figured him out, generally happy and relatively pliable. But it had been a pretty isolating few days – mostly just him and Sam. They went to Bobby's twice a day to feed and play with Rummel. And Adam had driven them into town once just to break up the monotony and to keep himself from going stir crazy. For the most part, though, Adam didn't really mind. He just wasn't used to having only himself for company for so long. Because even though Sam was there, his ability to engage with Adam was limited. And while Adam had always spent a fair amount of time alone, he'd also had school and friends and his mother to draw him out and make him think about things other than himself.

As far as Adam could figure, while the people in town seemed nice enough, the Winchesters and Bobby kept mostly to themselves.

So when there was a knock on the door Adam was surprised.

"Who's that?" Sam asked. He looked away from the television, interest sparking on his face.

"Dunno," Adam responded with a shrug, making for the front of the house.

"Hi!" The man at the door was tall with blondish hair and a square face. "Is Sammy here?"

Adam felt his eyebrows rise. "Uh, yeah," he answered. Paused. "Who are you?" He hoped the man wouldn't think he was being rude, but he really had no idea.

The guy laughed. "Oh, sorry. I'm Nick," he said, holding out his hand. "You must be Adam."

Adam smiled in response, but felt a tickle of unease. "Yeah. How do you…?"

"Adam?" Sam's voice was behind him, curious.

Adam stepped away from the door, turning toward his brother. "Hey, Sam. There's someone…"

"No!"

Sam's shout made Adam jump. And before Adam could react, Sam reached out, grabbed him by the collar and jerked him away from the door. Suddenly, Adam found himself staring at Sam's broad back, and Adam was struck forcibly – and somewhat nonsensically given the circumstances – by just how _large _his brother was. When he tried to move around to the front, to regain some sort of control of the situation, Adam was unable to maneuver. Sam's arm was like an iron bar he couldn't get past.

"No!" Sam yelled again at the man in the doorway. "You go away!"

Nick laughed, and this time the sound made the hair on Adam's neck stand on end.

"Now, now, Sammy. Is that any way to talk?"

"I said 'no,'" Sam reiterated. "You have to go away!"

"Tsk, tsk. Sammy, we're going to have to have a lesson in manners it looks like." The friendly, easy tone chilled Adam's blood, and Sam responded to it with a small whimper, backing into Adam, forcing Adam even more firmly behind him, one arm wrapping awkwardly around, pulling Adam close against his body, shielding him.

Adam thought he could actually feel the terror radiating off of Sam, and the wrongness of the situation suddenly seeming to permeate even the air around them.

"Sam," Adam whispered, scared in spite of himself, one hand curling into the fabric of Sam's shirt. He shouldn't be here, cowering behind his brother. Adam was the one who was supposed to be taking care of Sam, protecting him. _Get a grip_, he told himself angrily and tried to move again.

But Sam tightened his grip almost to the point of hurting him.

"Go away," Sam pleaded. "I said, 'no.' Nononononono…."

"But you haven't heard my whole spiel, kiddo," Nick said smoothly. "And it's rude not to hear it all before you give me your answer." He paused. "Maybe you'll listen better without the distraction of a pesky little brother."

Adam felt himself wrenched out of Sam's grasp, and then a punch of pain as he was slammed against the wall.

"Noooooo!"

Sam screamed as Adam was pulled away from the wall and hurled across the room. With a certain level of detachment, Adam registered a frightening "crunch" when he hit the television, felt a shriek of agony down his arm and side and then knew nothing more.

xxxx


	3. Chapter 3

_xxxx_

_Chapter 3_

_xxxx_

The job had taken longer than either Dean or Bobby had thought it would, but it was over now, and they were on their way home. Bobby was asleep in the passenger seat, and Dean had the window rolled down, enjoying the warm air whipping through the car.

Dean had called every day and been relieved and pleased that Sam had seemed completely content with Adam's company. Adam had had few questions, but had seemed happy enough with the situation himself, laughingly telling stories on Sam and his own missteps.

For Dean, the pleasure of working a job with someone else had been welcome. He hadn't done that in a while; Dad's disappearance and death had made the few jobs he'd done in the last year solo hunts. Having Bobby there to bounce ideas off of and to watch his back had made the job seem like a cakewalk.

He'd needed that.

Because as much as he loved Sam and, really, taking care of his little brother, there were times when Dean felt, well, trapped; tied, at 29 to a child who would never grow up, would always need to be taken care of, would never be able to live life on his own. Dean didn't begrudge Sam that care – he didn't. But a break from that task every once in a while was a relief. It energized Dean to realize that he was headed back to Sam eager to see his little brother, having missed him.

When his phone rang, Dean thumbed it open without taking his eyes off the road. "Yeah?"

There was silence on the other end, broken by the sound of uneven breathing. "Hello?" Dean felt his heart start to trip, and he tucked the phone under his chin, rolling up the window to his left. "Sam?" Because who else would have called him? "Adam?"

"D- Dean?"

"Adam?"

Beside him, Bobby stirred, eyes cracking open at him.

"D- Dean. I- I'm sorry. I didn't… He took him. He took Sammy, and I don't…." Adam's voice was slurred, and it sounded disturbingly like the kid was crying.

"Who took Sam, Adam?"

"I- I don't know. He said his name was Nick. He asked for Sam, but Sam…." Adam broke off with a gasp, a muffled groan reaching Dean.

Across the panic about Sam, Dean realized that there was something wrong with Adam. "Adam," he said sharply. "Are you hurt?"

Bobby was sitting up now, leaning toward Dean, his own phone in his hand.

"My head," Adam managed. "I- I hit the television. I can't… my arm…." he trailed off. Then, "Sammy. He tried… He said 'no.' He kept saying 'no.'"

"OK, kiddo, OK," Dean tried to soothe. In spite of his own growing panic, Dean knew he needed to get Adam calmed down. "We're on our way, alright? Bobby's calling an ambulance for you." Dean could hear Bobby talking urgently to the 911 operator he'd reached.

"Dean." It was a sob on the other end of the line, and Dean felt his heart clench.

"We're coming, Adam. We're on our way."

xxxx

Dean and Bobby went straight to the hospital. They found Adam already bandaged and drugged and ensconced in a bed. Sheriff Mills was waiting for them outside Adam's room.

"What the hell happened?" Dean demanded of the sheriff. He stopped to speak with her, but his eyes went to still figure in the bed.

The sheriff shook her head, following Dean when he moved abruptly into the room, headed for his brother. Bobby trailed after them. "Damned if I know," she said. "Your boy here – Adam?" she questioned Bobby, Dean now intent on Adam, "says this guy Nick showed up at the front door asking for Sam and that when Sam freaked out after seeing him, the guy took him."

"How bad is he?" Dean asked her. Adam had a bandage around his head and a cast on one arm.

"Doctor says he'll heal up just fine. But it'll take some time."

Dean nodded, reaching out a hand to push Adam's bangs out of his face. _God, he looked so young._

"What about Sam?" Dean pivoted to the sheriff.

"We're doing what we can, Dean," she said. "But we don't know anything about this Nick guy. Who is he?"

Dean looked at Bobby, who shook his head. "We don't know any Nick."

"Could Sam know him on his own? According to Adam, Sam knew who he was."

"We don't know a Nick," Dean bit out. "I know who Sam knows. And there's no Nick."

Sheriff Mills watched him unhappily. "Dean."

"There's. No. Nick." Dean didn't know how to get her to believe him. Sam went where he went. Or where Bobby went. He didn't go places on his own. He didn't have access to the Internet. Sam didn't meet or interact with people outside of the presence of Dean or Bobby. There wasn't a particular reason for that – it was just the way their lives worked.

"OK," the sheriff agreed reluctantly. "But that gets us nowhere. We're looking for fingerprints or anything else that will give us a lead, but…."

"Yeah," Dean said.

xxxx

They brought Adam to Bobby's after he was released from the hospital, and somehow the kid had managed to convince Dean not to tell his mother about the incident.

"She'll make me go home, Dean. She won't let me stay. I can't… I can't leave until we know about Sammy, man. Please. Please don't make me go." Adam's voice had broken while he'd begged, messed up on pain killers and guilt and grief. And Dean hadn't had the heart or the energy to fight him on it.

It had been almost three days, and they had nothing. There'd been no fingerprints or any other sort of evidence left at the house to point them in a particular direction. Adam had flipped through pages of mug shots Sheriff Mills has brought by, just in case. But he'd seen no one that looked like the Nick who had knocked on their door that day.

After Adam had woken up and told them about being thrown across the room, neither Dean nor Bobby had held out any hope that traditional police work was going to do them any good anyway.

They were sitting in Bobby's front room, Bobby at his desk, Dean in one of the chairs, Adam on the floor leaning against Dean's chair, absently rubbing Rummel's stomach. They'd been out all day, trying to track down where Sam might have been taken—driving from town to town, showing Sam's picture at hotels and diners and stores—but they'd gotten nowhere. Dean could feel the frustration and the fear screaming though his nerve endings, urging him to do _something_. But there was nothing to do. They had no idea what had taken Sam.

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. When he looked over at Bobby, he saw that the older man was watching him. Dean cocked an eyebrow at him.

_What?_

Face troubled, Bobby squinted at Dean. "It could be a demon," he said. He pulled off his hat and scrubbed a hand over his head.

"A demon?" Dean asked, heart in his throat. "But."

Dean had encountered exactly one demon in all his years of hunting. It had been his first hunt as primary back-up for his father.

xxxx

_As a graduation present, Dad had promised Dean a real hunt. _

_Dean had helped his Dad with hunts before – short trips, salt and burns. Nothing that Dad hadn't already researched and planned out completely; nothing that had involved leaving Sam overnight. _

_This time, though, Dad had said that Dean could be involved start to finish—tracking down the hunt itself, research, strategy, execution. Dean could barely concentrate enough to get through finals he was so excited. _

_When the time came, Bobby agreed to watch 14-year-old Sam for the duration, and while Dean was uncertain about leaving his brother for the first time in their lives, he was also over the moon about the chance to prove himself to his father._

_Sam flipped out. Although not in the way Dean had expected—not with temper tantrums or sulking. In fact, on the surface Sam was remarkably fine with the whole thing. He was as uncertain as Dean at the thought of Dean not being there; but he was happy, too. Because he knew Dean was happy._

_Subconsciously, though…._

_The night before they left Sam woke the house with the worst nightmare he'd ever had, terrified and inconsolable. He was sleeping with Dean, unwilling to be separated in the hours leading up to Dean's trip, and Dean hadn't had the heart (or the desire) to make the kid sleep on his own. Sam's shrieks almost gave Dean a heart attack, ringing in Dean's ears, screaming sobs of "nonononononono" accompanied by flying fists and kicking legs._

_By the time Dean got Sammy's flailing limbs contained, the screams had changed to muffled sobbing until eventually, with Dad standing over the bed, gun drawn and barking demands to know what in the hell was going on, Sam subsided, though he was still crying and clinging to his brother. Sam wouldn't say anything other than mumbled, repeated no's when asked what was wrong. And then, surprisingly, he dropped immediately back into a deep sleep, his grip on Dean's t-shirt not slackening._

_Shaking his head, Dad left, kissing Sam on the cheek and patting Dean on the shoulder. Dean spent the rest of the night lying awake, seriously considering just staying home. But in the morning it was like nothing had happened, Sam frowning uncertainly when asked what had scared him so badly the night before. He chattered cheerfully as his father and brother loaded their gear into the car._

"_Sammy, you sure you're OK with this?" Dean asked, tossing his duffel into the trunk. Sam had had nightmares before, but something about last night's terror had left Dean strangely unsettled._

_Sam turned in John's arms to face Dean. "Yeah. 's OK, Dean. You should help Daddy." He twisted around some to look up at their father. "Right, Dad? Dean should help you?"_

_John met Dean's eyes over Sam's head, then shifted his gaze down to his younger son with a smile. "You think your old man can't handle this job?" he teased, smoothing a hand over Sam's hair._

_Sam's eyes got wide. "No, Dad," he responded earnestly. "You can do anything. But it's good to have someone with you, isn't it? To talk to you and keep you company. Like I'm gonna keep Bobby company." He bit his lip, peering anxiously at his father. "Right?"_

"_Right," John reassured him. "I'm glad I'm gonna have Dean with me for this one," he said. He leaned down to whisper loudly in Sam's ear. "Thanks for loaning him to me."_

_Sam giggled and then hurled himself at Dean, who was rolling his eyes. _

"_Bye, Dean," Sam said, arms wrapping around Dean, squeezing as hard as he could._

_Dean groaned dramatically. "Dude. You're gonna cut me in half. Stop it."_

_Sam didn't. He arched his back to give more leverage to his hug and grunted dramatically to show his exertion._

"_OK, squirt, that's enough," Dean laughed, though admittedly a little breathlessly. He kissed the top of Sam's head and gave him a sharp shove toward Bobby, who caught the boy easily, hooking an arm over Sam's shoulders. "See you soon."_

_It turned out the creature they were hunting was a demon. Dad actually hadn't encountered one in the time he'd been hunting, so they were fairly cautious in their approach, even as they consulted with Bobby and learned the rites they needed to exorcise it._

_The demon had been possessing a boy about Sam's age, all earnest glances and deep dimples while the Winchesters interviewed him about the chaos that had been happening in the area. Until the kid's eyes flipped to pitch black. Coltish awkwardness gone, the boy ran like a gazelle out the door of his family's apartment and through the streets of downtown, Dean and Dad hot on his heels. _

_They hadn't expected to encounter their prey in the boy, so there had been no time to prepare, no chance to copy out the devil's trap Bobby had shown them. There'd only been a startled skidding to a halt when the poor kid hosting the demon suddenly whirled to stand his ground in the abandoned warehouse in the middle of downtown Oklahoma City._

_Dad was in front and his arm shot out to stop Dean, pushing him back when the boy smiled, eyes still obsidian in his too-young face._

"_Well, well, well. Winchesters. What do you know?"_

_Dean sensed his father falter._

_The demon's attention went to Dean. Dad shifted to stand in front of him, and Dean felt a twinge of annoyed impatience at the protective gesture. Geez, Dad._

"_Dean, I presume?" the demon smarmed, and Dean blinked. "Surely not little Sammy." It paused. "For any number of reasons, I suppose, eh, John?" The thing looked at Dad, eyes switching back to the boy's natural color – a muddy hazel. "You must be so disappointed to have ended up with a retard."_

_Dean surged forward, a growl in his throat. No one talked about Sammy that way. _

_The boy lifted a hand, and Dean was stopped short. He felt a grip around his chest that he couldn't later describe – there, but not. Unyielding. Painful. Making it impossible to breathe. He made a noise he'd never heard himself make before._

_And it was Dad's turn to start toward the kid._

_The hand flicked at Dad, and he was stopped as surely as Dean had been. Eyes the color of Sam's narrowed at Dean. "Sorry, kiddo. It's time for the grown-ups to talk."_

_Then he was in the air. Dean heard his father's horrified shout and then nothing._

_When Dean came to, his father was crouched next to him, face the color of milk, eyes terrified and trying hard not to show it._

"_Da', wha's wrong?" It was the first thing out of Dean's mouth. And it was the only thing it had even occurred to him to say. There was so clearly something wrong._

_Dad huffed out a snort, a shaky grin trying to downplay what had happened. "You mean other than a demon tossing you across the room?" Dad's hands were both rough and gentle as they patted Dean down, testing joints and bones before helping Dean into a sitting position._

"'_m OK," Dean groaned. "What happened? What's wrong?"_

"_It got away," Dad said. And for a second he looked… lost, Dean thought. Not pissed, like he should have. Just… lost._

"_Da-,"_

"_There's nothing to do," Dad said. Brisk now. Determined. "It's gone."_

_Dean was confused. "We're going after it, though, right? What do we do next?" Dad hauled him to his feet. _

_But Dad shook his head. "No. This is bigger than I can do with you. We're going home. I'll finish the job up once I drop you with Bobby."_

"_What? No! Dad, I can…"_

"_Get in the car. I'll be right behind you."_

"_Dad, no. I…."_

"_That's an order, Dean," Dad spit out._

_And Dean obeyed._

_It was a long, almost completely silent ride back to Bobby's. Dad spoke only in short, clipped commands, refusing to explain or be deterred. Dean felt only the shame and failure of being sidelined before he'd even had a chance to show his father what he could do._

_When they got back, John closeted himself with Bobby for hours. _

_There'd been sounds of raised voices and even furniture overturning, but the door had remained locked, and Dean had been unable to hear anything clearly. Both men came out of the library grim-faced and silent. Dad stayed long enough to restock. Less than 12 hours later he was gone again._

_Dean was so miserable—bruised and aching from the physical abuse he'd taken as well as from the crushing disappointment he felt at having apparently screwed up so badly with his father – that he didn't pay attention to Sam beyond what was absolutely required for a few days._

_Sam, though, crept after him wherever he went. Sam, who was as silent as their father and Bobby, trailing Dean like a shadow, fingers reaching out to tangle in the hem of Dean's shirts whenever he got close. Sam, who tolerated being ignored and snapped at until the night when, once more, he woke the house with screams._

_They'd stayed on at Bobby's after Dad left. Dean just hadn't had the energy to get Sam packed up and moved back to their own place, so they'd been sharing the room they always did, Sam in the twin bed next to Dean's. Sam had tried to squeeze in with Dean the first night he'd been back, but Dean hadn't been in any mood to tolerate Sammy's clinginess those first few nights. So Sam had slept in his own bed, hugging the edge of the mattress closest to Dean._

_The screaming startled Dean out of his bed, sent him staggering across the short space to Sam. When Dean finally managed to shake Sam awake, the kid grabbed Dean in a stranglehold, arms around Dean's neck, mouth pressed desperately to Dean's ear. _

"_I'msorryI'msorryI'msorrydon'tgodon''tgo," Sam mumbled on a loop while Dean tried to break through the frantic apologies._

"_I'm right here, doofus," he teased gently when he finally thought Sam could hear him. "I'm fine." He pushed Sam just a few inches away from him, prying clutching fingers from his t-shirt. "Look. See?" He put a finger under Sam's chin to raise the boy's face to his own._

_Sammy's head came up obediently, and he fixed Dean with swimming eyes. "You weren't OK, D'n, you weren't," he insisted. "You flew. You flew and you fell and you hurt," he said, starting to cry again, plastering himself, once more, against Dean._

_Stunned, Dean wrapped his arms around his shaking brother. "I'm OK now, though, Sammy," he whispered. "I'm OK."_

_When Dean looked up he saw Bobby in the doorway, watching them._

"_Did you tell him?" Dean asked softly, accusation rough in his voice._

_But Bobby shook his head. In the dim light of the room Dean could see that the man's face was drawn. _

"_In the morning," Bobby said before he backed out and left them on their own._

_It took another twenty minutes to get Sam calmed down enough to sleep again. And for the second time in a week, Dean lay awake the rest of the night._

_The next day after breakfast, Dean got Sam settled with his toys and went to confront Bobby in his study._

"_How'd he know?" Dean demanded._

_Bobby didn't pretend he didn't know what Dean was talking about. "He saw it," he announced gruffly._

"_What?"_

_Bobby sighed heavily. "I told your daddy when you boys got back, but in the midst of everything after, I guess I forgot to tell you, too." Bobby's eyes wandered away for a minute, jaw tightening. "God forbid __John__ actually tell you anything," he muttered unhappily._

"_Tell me what?" Dean felt the ire drain out of him as Bobby spoke; in its place was something like dread._

_Bobby turned his attention back to Dean. "Sammy had a seizure while you were gone," he said steadily._

"_What?" Dean's voice was a squeak. Sam had had episodes occasionally over the years, but this would have been the first in years. And Dean hadn't been there for him._

"_Scared the crap out of me," Bobby admitted. "But we rode it out. The thing was. After. He wouldn't stop crying. He was sure – sure – that you were in trouble. Kept talking about you flying. Something about a black-eyed boy, too. I tried to call, but I couldn't get a hold of you. Next thing I knew, here you were."_

_Dean swallowed. "What did Dad say?"_

_Bobby frowned at him. "'bout what you'd expect."_

_Sammy having seizures and seeing what had happened to Dean miles away? Dean honestly had no idea what Dad might have said. The look on his face must have said as much to Bobby. The man heaved a sigh and rubbed an agitated hand over his head._

"_He was… scared. And, you know, pissed. So."_

_Yeah._

_Dean was silent for a minute. Then. "Did he tell you what the kid – the demon – said in Oklahoma City?" he asked softly._

_The look Bobby gave him was hard to decipher. _

"_It knew about Sammy," Dean whispered._

"_Yeah," Bobby said. "It did."_

_Dean felt his body go cold. "How?"_

"_I don't know, kid," Bobby said._

_And Dean knew that Bobby was lying._

xxxx

"A demon?" Dean repeated. "Wh- What makes you say that?" His encounter with the demon came rushing back, and the memory was like a kick in the gut.

It was hard for Dean to believe that he hadn't thought about that episode in years. Dad had never spoken of it again, had told Dean it was nothing, ordered Dean to drop it and refused to acknowledge further questions. Even Bobby, who Dean could usually get to break (or at least bend) on whatever restrictions Dad handed down, had only spoken in vague reassurances and refused to be cajoled into any sort of response.

Eventually Dean had been forced to let it go. He remembered not buying what his father and Bobby had been selling, but what little research he'd been able to do on his own had proved to be unfruitful.

But here it was again. A demon. And Sam involved in something Dean didn't understand.

_What the __hell__?_

Bobby looked unhappy to the point of illness as he contemplated Dean.

"You _really _ain't gonna like it," he said.

"Bobby!" Dean barked, scared and angry now. He felt Adam stiffen next to him. Rummel came to his feet, making a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a growl. Dean reached out to scratch the broad head reassuringly. _Sorry, bud._

"You remember that demon you and your daddy ran into during the hunt in OKC?"

"Yes," Dean snapped impatiently.

"It told your dad some things – some things about Sam – that John didn't want you to know. Didn't want to worry you with."

"Didn't want to worry me with?" Dean repeated incredulously. "A _demon_ said things about Sammy, and Dad didn't want to _worry_ me?" He was so angry he almost couldn't speak. Almost. "What the _hell_, Bobby? Why didn't _you _tell me?"

"Demons _lie_, boy," Bobby rasped, coming back at Dean fiercely. "And we didn't know anything. Especially not at first. What was the point of telling you, if it was nothing?"

"'Not at first,'" Dean parroted back. "But later? Did you know something later?"

Bobby was back to looking exhausted again. He sighed heavily. "Right before John died he called; told me he'd found something out. He didn't say much. Said he'd tell me in person." He looked at Dean, and Dean realized his father had died before he could give Bobby much information.

"What _did_ he tell you?" Dean asked grimly.

"He said…," Bobby stopped and cleared his throat. "He said that your mama had made some sort of deal with a demon."

_No._ "That's a lie," Dean spat.

Bobby didn't react. "That was what John told me, son," he said evenly. "Said that somehow Sam had been tainted because of it, that the boy was supposed to be part of a war between angels and demons. That the demons wanted him – needed him – in a battle with heaven."

_No._ "That… that can't be true," Dean faltered. "Why… why would Mom do that? She couldn't have _done_ that."

The pitying look on Bobby's face came close to undoing him. "I'm sorry, kiddo," the man said gently. "That's what your daddy said. He never got to tell me the rest."

Dean forced himself to think around the sickness in his stomach, around the bitter feel of anger and resentment.

"Did he think that had anything to do with Sam seeing me that time?"

Bobby shrugged. "Didn't say. Seems like it might, though, don't it?"

It did. But what the hell did that mean?

xxxx


	4. Chapter 4

_xxxx_

_Chapter 4_

_xxxx_

"God damn! Somebody hold this son of a bitch down!"

The kid on the gurney was stronger and more coordinated than any man in his condition had a right to be. He'd been brought in to the ER beat to hell and out of his head on something.

But in spite of his disorientation and obvious physical trauma, the guy had managed to knock three of the orderlies on their asses. He was out of control, thrashing and screaming, but was still cogent enough to fight like he'd been trained to it.

It took almost ten minutes, but they finally got him pinned and in restraints.

"Get a blood sample," Walter panted. "I want to know what this dude is on before we administer any meds."

Clint approached the bed warily.

"Somebody see it he's got any ID on him, while we're at it," Walter added, straightening his scrub top and reaching for the equipment he needed to do an exam.

The man on the bed cringed away from the nurse as he approached, eyes wide with terror. "N-Nonon-nonon-nonon-no," he stuttered, trying without success to move his arm out of reach.

Clint was not a small man, and he captured the shaking forearm of the patient easily, sticking the kid with the needle and drawing blood. "Broken fingers," Clint gritted when he was finished. "Several."

"D- D- Dean," the guy whispered. "D- Dean."

Now that he was contained, the man on the table seemed smaller, weaker. The eyes that watched Walter were filled with frightened tears, bruised and fearful in his scraped and battered face.

"There's an ID in here," Jen said, having wrestled a battered nylon billfold out the kid's back pocket. "Not a driver's license," she frowned. "It says Sam Winchester." There was a pause. "South Dakota address," she said, curiously. She folded the wallet back together. "What's this?" She flashed the front of the billfold at Walter.

Walter glanced over at the small metal badge she was pointing to. "Transformer," he told her, then looked more thoughtfully at the patient. "Autobot, I think."

With a glance that said, "You are, in fact, as big a geek as I've always suspected," Jen opened the billfold again and began to sort through the papers in it.

"Alright, Sam," Walter started, approaching cautiously, like he might a wild animal. Or a terrified child. There was something about this boy….

He actually wasn't a boy. That much was clear. The man in front of Walter was too long for the table – four or five inches over six foot, he'd guess—and there were several days' worth of beard on his face. It was a thin covering, patchy in spots, but still very much the growth of an adult.

But the eyes.

Even with the horrors the man had clearly suffered, there was an innocence in the hazel eyes that were watching Walter agitatedly. There was terror shining there, but also an almost overpowering bewilderment – like Sam didn't have any idea what was happening.

The patient keened, straining away frantically when Walter approached. Walter checked over both hands briefly, and Clint was right. There were fingers broken or out of joint on each side, swollen up like sausages and bent at painful angles. They'd take care of those soon. But at the moment…. Murmuring soothingly and being careful to avoid the busted up hands, Walter forced himself to ignore the pitiful sounds coming from his patient and moved closer, lifting fluttering eyelids and flicking his penlight into the kid's eyes. The boy flinched away, pupils dilated wide.

"Aha!" Jen crowed triumphantly. Sam jerked violently in response, but Jen didn't notice. "'In case of emergency,'" she read, "'please contact Dean Winchester.' And here's a number. Oh." Jen hesitated. "This says Sam's… mentally challenged." She looked over at Sam, a different expression on her face before she glanced to Walter.

He sighed. Over 20 years in the ER and there were still things that took him by surprise and tore at his heart.

"Well, young Sam," he asked, gently, "how in the world did you get yourself from South Dakota to Detroit?"

xxxx

Even with the information Bobby had finally seen fit to share with Dean, they'd found nothing that led them anywhere near Sam. They'd done their own kind of searching, talking to psychics and other hunters, hoping for signs that would give them an inkling of what this demon might have done with Sam.

But they'd run out of possibilities, and Dean didn't know what to do next.

They were sitting in the living room at Bobby's, pretending to eat and watch T.V. Adam was on the couch next to Dean, too close, as he had been since he'd gotten out of the hospital. The kid had been deeply and understandably shaken by what had happened. He'd done everything Dean or Bobby had asked of him over the last week and a half, reading through dusty tomes, skimming for the spells they'd set him after or running obscure internet searches. Adam said he was fine. But Dean had barely been able to go to the bathroom without his shadow for days.

Dean shifted to get his phone out of his pocket when it vibrated. He didn't recognize the number when he glanced at it.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Dean Winchester?"

"Speaking." Dean frowned at the questioning he look he got from Adam.

"Are you related to Sam Winchester?"

Dean nearly bolted off the couch. "Yes. Yes, I am. I'm his brother. Is he OK? Do you have him?"

"We have him," the female voice answered smoothly. "He was brought into our emergency room about an hour ago."

Dean felt his stomach drop. "Is he OK? Can I talk to him? Where are you?"

"The doctors are examining him now," the woman answered crisply. "We're in Detroit at Saint Jude's. I'm afraid your brother was brought in badly beaten. He was agitated and incoherent. We thought…"

"What's your address?" Dean interrupted impatiently.

She rattled it off, and Dean repeated the address aloud, Bobby scribbling it down while Adam typed it frantically into the computer.

"You said he was beaten?" Dean asked. "How bad? Is he going to be OK?"

"The doctors are still with him," the nurse hedged. "I have some questions about his mental state. The note in his wallet said he was brain injured. What level of damage are we talking about? The doctor will need to know that as he's assessing Sam's injuries."

Dean cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "He almost drowned when he was four; when he regained consciousness he never really developed mentally."

"Seizures?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes."

"What about language? Is he verbal?"

"Uh. Yeah. Very verbal." He paused. "Is he awake and not speaking?"

There was a silence on the other end of the phone for a beat. "He is speaking some. But just a couple of words over and over again. He's generally more verbal than that?"

"Hell, most times I can't get him to shut up," Dean said.

"OK, that's good to know. It may just be the trauma. He's only saying your name and 'no.'"

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed down the bile that was threatening to rise. "Oh, God. Tell him I'm coming, OK? Can you do that? Tell him I'm on my way?"

"Of course," she said, more gentle now than she had been before. "I'll tell him that." There was the muffled sound of voices and commotion on the other end of the line. "I need to go. You have the address and the number? I'll have the doctor call you when he gets a chance."

And she hung up.

Dean stood still for a second, trying to catch up with what had just happened. Sam was alive. Sam was hurt. Sam was in Detroit.

Dean needed to be in Detroit.

A hand fell on his shoulder.

"Go get packed," Bobby said gruffly.

Dean blinked and registered Bobby and Adam standing in front of him.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Let's go."

xxxx

"We've placed Sam in a seclusion room," the doctor said as they walked down the long, sterile hall.

"A what?" Dean asked. "Why?"

"A seclusion room," the woman said patiently. "We were concerned about Sam's hurting himself further. In spite of his injuries, he's extremely agitated. We've given him a fairly strong sedative, but he's still physically resistant to letting the drugs do their work. We tried restraining him in his bed, but he struggled so violently he actually managed to overturn the bed and the equipment surrounding him. We're wary of putting him out completely given his mental state and the seclusion room allows him some freedom, but with protective padding to prevent him from injuring himself against the walls."

_Restraining him? Injuring __himself__? What the hell?_ Dean shared a look with Bobby.

"You should also prepare yourself for the fact that we do have Sam in a strait-jacket for…."

"You what?" Dean's confusion and concern morphed abruptly into fury. He stepped directly into the path of the doctor, turning to face her in the same motion. _How dare they…_

"Mr. Winchester," she said smoothly, not appearing in the least worried by Dean's reaction. "I understand that this is a very upsetting situation. But I assure you that we would _only _use that level of restraint for your brother's safety. When he isn't contained, Sam is hitting himself hard enough to leave marks and pulling out his hair. He has a number of fingers broken on each hand, and he was in danger of damaging them permanently from the blows he was inflicting on himself. As horrible as you think a strait-jacket sounds, it is doing its job by keeping your brother from doing more serious harm to himself."

The doctor's little lecture and rundown of Sam's condition left Dean reeling, but she didn't elaborate further, just watched him with a surprising kindness while he took the information in.

Dean felt a hand on his shoulder. Bobby. He looked at the older man, who lifted his palm to the side of Dean's neck. "Come on, boy. Let's go see your brother."

Dean's eyes went back to the doctor, and he nodded stiffly, stepping out of her way. It didn't make any sense, but standing here wouldn't sort it out for him.

"Yeah," he agreed. "OK." He swallowed heavily. "Sorry."

They followed the woman down the hall to the last room on the corridor. Dr. Gill went up quickly on her toes to glance in the viewing window. Dean hadn't really thought about it, but the doctor was tiny. There was an orderly sitting at the nearby desk, who looked up as they approached.

"He seems calm at the moment," the doctor said. "Let's see how he reacts."

Her nod brought the very large orderly to them. He unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

"Hey, Sam," he said, voice carefully modulated. "Dr. Gill is here."

As the door swung more open, Dean could see Sam crouched in a corner of the room, and Dean felt his stomach plummet.

Sam was wrapped in the white canvas jacket, arms having disappeared inside the confining garment. His large frame seemed thinner, almost frail, and the bruised, terrified face that was barely visible through Sam's dirty bangs was almost unrecognizable.

Dean felt his breath leave his lungs in a rush, and if the gasps behind him were any indication, Bobby and Adam were having the same reaction.

"Oh, kid," Bobby sighed.

Dr. Gill held out a hand behind her, hushing them as she went into the room.

"Hello, Sam. I'm Dr. Gill." She waited until Sam's eyes wandered over to her and then flicked fearfully away. "Do you remember me?" Sam didn't give any indication that he did, just hunching and flinching at the sound of her voice. "Dean is here."

Dean thought that if you didn't know Sam you might think that he wasn't responding to that information. There was a twitch around his eyes that might be mistaken as a tic, but that Dean _knew._

"Sammy?" Without asking permission, Dean stepped around both the doctor and the orderly. "Hey, ki-,"

The shriek that ripped from Sam set Dean staggering back in surprise.

"NO!" Sam was on his feet, pushing himself against the wall, sliding to the side, desperate to get away. "No Dean! No! No! NO!"

"Sammy! Sam! It's OK, it's OK, it's OK," Dean took a step forward, hands held out in an attempt to soothe.

But Sam was not having it. "NO!" he screamed.

"Sammy!" Dean could hear the desperation in his voice rising to match Sam's, but he felt powerless to stop it. This was not how Sam should react, and it was scaring the crap out of him. "Sam, it's…."

Sam scuttled to the corner farthest from the door still sobbing out "No Dean" and trying to shove himself into the fabric covered walls.

"Mr. Winchester. You need to step back." The doctor's voice was clipped, but calm, and the giant orderly acted quickly, coming around to herd Dean out of the room.

Dean didn't struggle, too shocked by Sam's rejection to do more than let himself be hustled back into the hall.

They closed the door on Sam's cries, and Dean leaned over, hands on his knees trying not to throw up and to catch the breath that seemed to have abandoned him.

"Wh- ? What- ?" Adam stuttered next to him. The kid's hand was on his shoulder, fingers tightening in Dean's shirt.

The doctor shook her head. "I don't know." She eyed Dean speculatively. "I would have thought your presence would calm him given how he's been saying your name."

Bobby's hand came to rest lightly on Dean's heaving back. "It should," Bobby said. "Dean… Dean's always been the one Sam relies on. Sam should be happy to see Dean. He should be over the moon that his brother's come…"

"What about the two of you?" she asked suddenly. "Does he have the same relationship with you?" She looked at Bobby and Adam searchingly.

"Not to Dean's level," Bobby said slowly. "But I… I've taken care of the kid most of his life. They live close by."

The doctor frowned and transferred her attention to Adam.

Adam blinked. "I-." His eyes went uncertainly to Dean.

Dean took a deep breath and straightened gingerly. "We just… Adam's our brother. But we didn't know him until recently," he answered. "Sam knows him. And trusts him. But not as well as he knows Bobby and me."

Dr. Gibb looked among the three men consideringly. "Let's try Adam. I'm wondering if there's something about those closest to him that is triggering this reaction. Sam has clearly wanted Dean since he got here. But given his response to Dean's actual presence, I'm worried that the person who hurt him might have… confused him somehow."

She bit her lip and turned to Adam. "Are you willing to try?"

Adam nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. Of course."

xxxx

When the door opened again, they could see that Sam had put his face into the corner. Slowly and sharply he was banging his head against the padded walls where they joined. "Dean," he moaned. "Dean."

Adam looked over his shoulder quickly, seeking reassurance from the same person. Dean looked like he was about to be violently ill, but he nodded tightly at Adam, whispering "Go." And Adam stepped fully into the room.

He faced his brother. "Hey, Sammy," Adam said softly.

Sam didn't seem to notice him; didn't stop the rhythmic pounding.

Adam took a step toward his brother.

"Sammy?"

No pause.

"Hey." He wasn't sure how Sam would react, but Adam reached out hesitantly and touched Sam lightly on the shoulder.

Sam jerked sharply, spinning around and cringing away.

Adam felt his heart stutter at the sight of his brother this close up. Sam's face was drawn, and pale where it wasn't mottled with fresh and healing bruises. There were deep circles under Sam's eyes, smudged near-black and angry-red at the corners. His nose looked like it had been broken, no longer the straight line it had been and his both his hair and his thin beard were limp-looking and filthy.

"Oh, Sammy," Adam breathed brokenly, pulling back, hands raised slightly.

Sam froze when he saw Adam. But he didn't scream. Instead, he seemed to be processing his brother's presence. "Dean," he whispered. He swayed the slightest bit closer to Adam.

Adam smiled unsteadily. "Dean's here, Sammy," Adam reassured him. "He's right outside. Do you want me to get him?"

Sam's eyes were fixed on Adam, though, travelling over him intently, pausing on the cast on Adam's arm. Sam didn't say anything, but his eyes moved back to Adam's face, questioning as they searched for something.

Adam blinked and cleared his throat against the sudden ache. "'m OK, Sam," he said softly. He smiled as reassuringly as he could. "Really. I'm OK."

Sam didn't nod or speak, but Adam felt like his brother understood. Then Sam's eyes flicked to the door and back to Adam.

"Dean really missed you, Sam," Adam said. "He's right outside, and he really wants to see you."

Something like fear flashed through Sam's eyes. "No Dean," he said. "No Dean." He faltered a half-pace back again.

Adam didn't understand. "Don't you want to see Dean, Sammy?"

"Dean," Sam whispered again, longing. But he stepped further away from Adam, bumping against the wall and turning into it. He began to beat his head against the padded surface once more.

"Stop, Sammy," Adam begged, reaching for him again. He could feel the burn of tears in his eyes, his heart breaking at Sam's distress. "Please stop."

Miraculously, Sam obeyed. But he didn't face Adam, just rested his forehead on the wall. "No Dean."

Adam frowned, trying to interpret the combination of "no" and "Dean." Adam knew that Sam wasn't saying "no" _to _Dean. But was he saying "no" _about _Dean? Did Sam think that Dean _wasn't_ Dean?

"It is Dean, Sammy," Adam said. He put a hesitant hand on Sam's shoulder again, leaving it there when Sam didn't pull away. "Dean is here. Sam, I promise. It's Dean."

Now, Sam did look at Adam, eyes searching Adam's face. "Dean?"

"Yeah. Dean. You trust me, don't you, Sammy?"

After a minute of intense concentration, Sam gave the smallest of nods, and Adam couldn't help the grin that broke across his face.

"Dean's here, Sam," he said as soothingly as he could. "Do you want me to get him? He's just outside."

Sam's eyes went again to the door that Dean had gone through. They lingered this time, though, desperate. "Dean," he said.

"I'll get him." Adam took a step back.

"No Dean?" Sam questioned, still afraid. _Are you sure?_

"Yes Dean," Adam corrected gently, but as firmly as he could. But he didn't make a move. Waited until Sam believed him.

"Dean," Sam sighed.

Carefully, Adam went to the door. Dean was already there.

"I think he doesn't believe you're you," Adam said quietly.

Dean gave him a sharp glance. He paused, seeming to adjust to that idea before slipping through the door.

"You done good, boy," Bobby said roughly.

Adam smiled shakily, moving to Bobby's side and accepting the slap against his back and bruising shoulder squeeze from the older man gratefully.

Through the open door, Adam saw Dean approach Sam cautiously, not wanting to scare his brother.

"Hey, Sammy."

"Dean," Sam breathed. He didn't move toward Dean, but he didn't scream either.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me." Dean had stopped a few feet from Sam. "I'm here."

Sam took a hesitant step forward. He didn't speak, but the terror that had tightened his body in ways that would only be apparent to those who knew him began to ease, slackening both his expression and his posture.

"Good Lord," whispered the orderly next to them, apparently in reaction to the change in Sam.

Carefully, Dean closed the distance between them. "Sammy," he said.

And Sam crumpled abruptly, pitching into his brother, who caught him easily.

"I've got you, kiddo," Dean soothed, sinking to the floor with his brother in his arms as Sam began to sob.

xxxx


	5. Chapter 5

_xxxx_

_Chapter 5_

_xxxx_

It took them over a week to convince Dr. Gill she could discharge Sam to his family's care.

With Dean there, Sam settled down to the point where he didn't need restraints. When the jacket came off, the splints on his hands emerged, intact, but askew. The ensuing x-rays and resetting of a couple of the fingers resulted in something of a setback, but they managed to get the procedures done without further damage to either Sam or those treating him.

The list of injuries Sam had suffered was staggering in its length and scope. It was no wonder he was agitated and fearful. In spite of the antibiotics he was taking, Sam developed an infection complete with a raging fever. The resultant change in antibiotic series upset Sam's stomach and left him weak and throwing up. Another switch to Sam's medications finally began the process of clearing up the infection without any additional side effects.

Dean, Bobby, and Adam took turns sitting with Sam, careful never to leave him alone. And while "Dean" was still the only word Sam would say other than "no," he seemed content with the presence of the other men as well. It was when one of the three of them weren't on duty that problems came up.

"Doc, I know he's not completely healed physically," Dean said as calmly as he could. "But I don't think he's going to really start getting better until we can get him home."

There'd been another incident that morning. Adam had stepped into the attached bathroom (door ajar) to take care of business when a group of med students and their resident entered Sam's room. The resultant hysterical, terror-ridden breakdown had been loud and messy and close to violent. (The almost-violence having been provided by Dean when he'd come into the room and found Sam cringing in a corner with Adam trying desperately to get the damned attending to leave them all the hell alone. The arrogant jackass had ignored the standing orders to bypass Sam's room during rounds.)

"There's too much activity here. Too many strangers, too many potential threats. He can't rest, and it's making things worse."

Dr. Gill frowned, troubled by the thought of letting Sam go. Dean appreciated that. He did. The doctor had been incredibly accommodating of them over the days they'd been there, and Dean was doing his best to hang on to his patience. It would do them no good if he blew up at the person who had been one of their biggest advocates.

"He needs his routine. That's what has always kept him steady. He needs what's familiar. And he can't get that here."

The woman sighed, and Dean knew he'd won. But he waited.

"OK," she said. She looked at him sternly. "I'm still worried about his physical well-being, though, Dean. He's weak from the infection, and you'll need to stay on top of his meds and keep an eye out for fever. I know it's gone now, but…."

She went on for several more minutes, and Dean nodded dutifully at appropriate intervals. Internally, though, he was thinking through everything that needed to be done before they could get on the road.

xxxx

Dean sat with Sam in the back of the Impala. He might have been imagining things, but Dean thought Sam relaxed when the car started up, and when they hit the long stretch of I-94 that would take them to I-80 and home, Sam's eyes closed. He curled into an impossibly small ball along the bench seat, head on Dean's thigh. He slept for the next ten hours.

Bobby and Dean had had a long discussion about whether they should go directly to Sam and Dean's house or whether they should start off at Bobby's place. Ultimately they decided on Bobby's. They weren't sure how Sam would react to being back at the house where he'd been taken, and better safe (they hoped) than sorry seemed like the order of the day.

Sam was awake when they pulled into the salvage yard. Rummel was straining at the end of his chain, barking in a frenzy.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes were on the dog. Not scared, but curious, puzzled.

"I told you Rummel missed you, didn't I? We're going to stay with Uncle Bobby for a few days, OK, Sammy?"

Sam's gaze went to the house and then back to Dean.

"OK, buddy?" Dean asked.

Sam gave a small nod of agreement, and Dean patted him on the knee approvingly. "That's my boy."

It was late in the afternoon, and Dean deliberately slipped them straight into their usual dinner/bedtime routine.

"You wanna watch cartoons while me and Adam get dinner ready, Sammy?" Dean asked. Sam followed him into the kitchen, blinking around the familiar room and sitting in his chair without prompting. Dean flipped on the small TV that was on the counter. "Bugs, yeah?" he said, settling on a channel playing Looney Tunes.

After Bobby had finished checking messages and email that had piled up during their absence, he joined them at the table, humming his approval of the hot dogs and mac-n-cheese the boys had put together. Sam ate his whole meal without incident – an improvement already – and was nodding off by the end.

They were all exhausted, so Sam's bedtime became everyone else's, too.

The bedroom Dean and Sam had shared as boys had been updated as they'd grown. It had become Sam's room for the times when Dean was away, and the two twin beds had long ago been replaced by an adult-sized queen. Dean rarely stayed at Bobby's any more, but now when he did, he had his own room.

For the moment, though, Dean and Sam were sharing a room. Adam took Dean's room, and after Dean got Sam squared away, he took a shower and got dressed for bed. Once he checked on Sam, Dean went downstairs.

"What are you doing?"

Bobby was on his knees at the threshold of the front door, drawing symbols with a black marker across the wooden entry.

"Found some stronger wards," Bobby said. "I'll carve 'em later. Just wanted to get 'em set before I went to bed." He sat back on his heels, looked up at Dean. "I'll do your house before you move back in."

Dean took a shaky breath. "You think that'll help?"

Bobby shrugged. "Should," he rumbled. He held out a hand to Dean. "Get me up, boy," he said.

Dean grinned, grasping Bobby by the wrist and giving a tug, heaving the older man to his feet. "It must be hell getting old," he said. And got a smack for his trouble.

Bobby went into his study, dropping the Sharpie into a coffee mug on his desk. Dean trailed after him.

"How are we going to protect him?" Dean asked. "From whatever this is? How're we going to….?" He shook his head, at a loss.

"I don't know, kid," Bobby sighed. "But we'll figure something out." He blew out another breath. "Go to bed, Dean," he ordered.

_Yeah. _Dean nodded. "Night, Bobby."

Exhausted, Dean climbed the stairs. He stuck his head into Adam's room and was encouraged to see that his youngest brother was already asleep, sprawled on his back, casted arm thrown over his head, mouth slightly open. The bedside lamp was on, so Dean went in and flipped it off, resisting – for just a moment – the urge to straighten out the sheet that Adam had already managed to get twisted around one ankle. Sighing, Dean gave in and untangled the restraint, draping the sheet loosely over his brother. Adam never stirred.

In Sam's room, the picture was different. Even though Dean had out turned the overhead light when he'd left earlier, it was on again, bright light flooding the room. And instead of being ranged across the entire bed like he normally would have been, Sam was holding himself rigidly on his stomach, firmly on one side of the mattress. He was asleep, Dean thought, but braced for something—for nightmares, for attack—arms, even with their splinted hands, tucked protectively under him.

Dean turned off the light again, instinctually checking the outlet with the nightlight in it. It was on, the illuminated figure of Jack-Jack Incredible chasing shadows across the room.

When Dean got into bed, Sam startled awake with a jerk, crying out "no" in a tone that made Dean feel a flash of rage so powerful that for a second he couldn't breathe.

"'s OK, Sammy, it's me," he said. "You're OK." Carefully he reached out to lay a hand on Sam's back.

"D'n?" Sam mumbled. He squinted uncertainly at his brother, still mostly asleep and a little disoriented. He propped himself up on his elbows groggily.

"Yep." Dean tried to keep his voice even, hoping Sam wouldn't fully rouse. He smoothed Sam's hair down and Sam eased back onto the mattress.

In the dim glow of the nightlight, Dean could see Sam blinking blearily at him from his pillow. "'K," Sam murmured.

Dean felt an eyebrow rise. That was new. Dean settled himself on his side of the bed.

Sam scooted across the mattress toward him. Without thinking about it, Dean lifted his arm as Sam slid close, head coming to rest on Dean's shoulder. Sam breathed out an audible sigh when Dean wrapped his arm around him.

"Go back to sleep, Sam," Dean said.

There was the movement of Sam's head against Dean's chest, and then just the sound of Sam's breathing evening out as he obeyed.

xxxx

It wasn't an easy few weeks. Sam seemed better – _was_ better – but there were setbacks and struggles along the way. The nightmares had lessened to an extent, no longer multiple times a night, but still constant enough that Dean was short on sleep and correspondingly short on temper.

And Sam still wasn't talking.

He could communicate with nods and headshakes and "no" and "Dean." But with occasional exceptions, he didn't speak at all.

More frustratingly, they still didn't know exactly what had happened – which demon had taken Sam or why. Whatever it was, it had obviously wanted _something_ from Sam, had tortured him trying to get it. And Dean didn't know whether it had succeeded or not. Had it let Sam go? Had Sam escaped? Would it come for him again?

The uncertainty had Dean in a constant state of anxiety. He and Bobby and even Adam had continued to research and call in whatever favors they had to figure out what the hell was going on. But so far they had no answers.

He was so caught up in Sam and working to try and keep his brother safe that it was late in August before Dean realized that Adam probably shouldn't still be there.

"Dude. When does school start?" Dean asked suddenly one night at dinner. Holy crap. Was he supposed to be getting the kid off to college? What the hell had happened to his mother?

Adam looked up from his hamburger unconcerned. "I'm delaying my start until January," he said.

"What?" Dean asked.

"What?" Bobby echoed.

Sam continued to eat his burger, though Rummel's curious glance seemed to telegraph disapproval.

"I talked to the admissions people. Told them I had a family emergency and I needed to stay home." He shrugged. "They said I could wait until the spring semester, if I wanted. I wanted." He ate a french fry.

Dean and Bobby exchanged a look.

"And your mom?" Dean asked. Kate could not have been pleased.

"I told her what happened to Sam – kinda – and said that I wanted to stay and help you. She was… disappointed, I guess, but she said she understood." He squared his shoulders somewhat. "Look. I'm not losing my scholarship or anything. It's just a few months. And I… I want to be here." He stopped, biting his lip. "Please?" he asked.

Dean shook his head. "Adam. Man, it's not a matter of you having to ask, OK? You're always welcome here." Dean shot a rueful glance at Bobby. After all, they were still at his house. "I just… I don't want you to get off course, all right? You promise me you're going in the spring, and we're all good."

Adam grinned. "I promise."

Dean nodded. He took a draw on his beer, thinking. "But you're gonna have to go see your mom, OK? She deserves that. And we can manage for a few days without you."

Across the table, Adam ducked his head. "Yeah," he agreed. "OK."

xxxx

For all that Sam wasn't communicating, he was definitely paying attention. And the fact that Adam planned on leaving had not escaped his notice. He'd watched Adam closely all week, his anxiety evident on his healing face, bruises having faded to yellowish-green.

Adam and Dean had explained to Sam as carefully as they could that Adam was only going to be gone for a little while, and that he'd be back.

Sam had listened just as carefully, murmuring "Dean" occasionally as his brothers talked, seeming to indicate that he understood. But the fear never fully left his expression.

Adam made plane reservations, and the morning Bobby was going to drive him to Sioux City, Adam was joined by Sam while he was shaving. Which was odd. Because Sam always shaved with Dean.

"Dean," Sam said gravely when he came into the bathroom

"Hey, Sammy," Adam said in response. They all treated "Dean" as greeting or agreement or query or Dean himself depending on the circumstances.

Sam stepped up next to Adam, nudging him slightly to the side. Adam shifted over obligingly, lathering up his face. He'd stopped shaving every day weeks ago, but he figured he'd make an effort at presentable for his mom.

"Dean," said Sam, reaching for the electric razor he used. It was awkward with his injured hands, but Sam had been insistent in his silent, stubborn way that he could shave himself.

Adam smiled. "You gonna shave with me, Sam?" he asked, pleased. It felt momentous for some reason. Sam had shaved with him when Dean had been gone; but never when Dean had been home.

Solemnly, Sam stretched out his neck, applying the buzzing razor to his throat. His hazel eyes met Adam's in the mirror. "Dean," he said.

Adam felt a palpable weight of sadness and "good-bye" in the single syllable. His eyes stung. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "Dean."

xxxx

Adam stayed with his mom for almost two weeks. It surprised him once he'd gotten home how much he'd missed it. How much he'd missed _her_. When he'd left, things had been tense between the two of them – like they had been for a long time. He'd been frustrated and angry with her, and he realized now that she'd felt the same things with him, adding a dash of hurt into the mix.

But so much had happened while he'd been with his brothers; so much that had been outside anything he'd ever known. And it hadn't been just the supernatural stuff—monsters and demons and telekinesis. There had been pain and grief and loss. Being _needed_ and depended upon. It had been overwhelming in ways he hadn't even realized until he'd seen his mom. When he'd stepped into her arms at the airport and started to cry.

He'd been mortified, but unable to stop. His mother had frozen for a moment in his desperate embrace, as taken aback by the sudden breakdown as he'd been. But then her arms had come around him hard and fierce, holding him together and propping him up until he'd gotten himself under control.

Thank God there hadn't been anyone they'd known at the airport to witness his humiliation.

Being with Mom had reminded Adam what it was like to be known so completely. As much as he loved Dean and Sam—and he did, unreservedly—his brothers didn't know him like his mother did. And they probably never would.

It had been freeing for Adam. And he'd opened up to his mother in ways he hadn't since he'd been in grade school. With the exception of the truth about monsters and demons, he'd told her everything: kidnapping, broken arm and all. Mom had listened with pursed lips, but a surprising readiness to hear the whole story.

"Well," she said. "First of all. Broken bones? I get a call. No matter what. You got me?" She gave him a stern look.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Second of all…" she trailed off and sighed. "Sam's going to be OK?"

Adam shrugged unhappily. "It seems like he's getting better. But he still mostly just says "Dean" or "no." I mean. He understands, you know? And that's good. But he used to talk all the time. It feels weird that he's so quiet," he said.

She nodded. "How's Dean doing with it? It must be hard for him, having his brother hurt so bad when he's been taking care of him for so long."

"He's OK," Adam said. For some reason he didn't want to talk about how Dean was dealing with everything. Even to his mom. It felt… disloyal.

But his mother didn't seem to notice. "Are you planning on staying with them until the holidays?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know, Mom," he said honestly. "I just. I think I help. Sam likes me. He trusts me and … . Even though Bobby's there, I think it helps Dean for me to be there."

Mom watched him.

"I'm sure it does, sweetheart," she said softly.

xxxx

In all honesty, Dean hadn't anticipated that Adam's departure would make that big a difference in their lives. They'd survived almost 19 years without the kid; they could handle a couple of weeks.

But Dean had missed him. And damn if Sam hadn't as well. After two days, Sam had added "Adam" to his list of words. He always said it as a question when he was reminded in some way that Adam wasn't there.

It was grating on Dean's nerves.

"Adam?"

Dean sighed. "Sammy. We've covered this," he said as patiently as he could. "Bobby's gone to get him from the airport. He'll be here soon."

"Adam," Sam repeated complacently and went back to the project he was working on with his Legos. "No," he chided Rummel when the dog nosed some of the plastic blocks next to him. As often as he played with the Legos, Sam could still never get the dog to leave them alone.

Rummel heard the car first, head jerking into an alert posture before the dog was up and tearing toward the door.

Sam leaped up after him. "Dean!" he said.

With a smile, Dean rose, too, and followed.

By the time Dean got to the porch, the car had stopped and Sam was pulling the passenger-side door open. "Adam!" he said.

Adam almost tripped in surprise as he was trying to extricate himself from the Chevelle and avoid Sam's enthusiastic attempt to hug him before he was completely upright. He staggered to the side and was saved from falling on his face by Sam, who jerked him close.

"Adam," Sam said again.

"Sam," Adam said in return, wonder coloring his voice, even muffled as it was in Sam's shoulder. "Dude," he managed in a strangled croak. "You're talking?"

"Not really," Dean said approaching them. "Sammy, ease up." Dean's hand on Sam's arm finally broke the embrace.

"Hey, man," Dean said.

Adam grinned from one brother to the other. "Hey," he said, shaking Dean's hand.

"You hungry?" Dean asked. He took Adam's duffle from Bobby, who had gotten it out of the trunk.

"Starved," Adam said. He fell into step beside Dean. "I didn't know if you'd still be at Bobby's or not," he said.

Dean shrugged. "For now. I was thinking since you're back, though, that we might make the move this weekend." He cocked an eyebrow at his youngest brother.

There was a beat of silence and then, "Cool. How's he doing?"

Sam had run ahead of them into the house, taking the bag out of Dean's hand and trotting eagerly up the steps.

"He's looking for a present," Dean told Adam.

Adam smiled. "He'll find one."

Dean shook his head, slanting Adam an approving look. _He's a good kid._ "He's definitely better. We've gone to the house a few times the last couple of weeks, just trying to gauge how he's going to react. So far, so good. I mean, he's uneasy. I can tell that. But he hasn't freaked out. I figure we'll spend two or three full days hanging out there before we try spending the night." He paused. "You up for that?"

Adam nodded, but Dean noticed an uneasiness there, too. _Of course._ Dean had two little brothers who had been traumatized in that house. Dean put a hand on the back of Adam's neck and gave a quick squeeze.

"Dean!" The screen door slammed open, and Sam was there. He thrust something at his brother. "Dean!" He swiveled to Adam. "Adam!"

Adam was grinning. "You like it, Sammy?" he asked.

"Dean!" Sam said in agreement, looking now at his older brother for confirmation.

Dean glanced down at the toy car he'd been handed. It was an Impala—1967 and black. It was perfect.

"Awesome."

xxxx


	6. Chapter 6

_xxxx_

_Chapter 6_

xxxx

It turned out the day-long visits to the house were good for both of his younger brothers. Dean knew that Adam didn't want him to realize how nervous he was, but the kid telegraphed his anxiety in much the same way he had when Sam had been taken, sticking closely to Dean or even Sam.

Dean doubted Adam even realized it.

Sam for his part seemed fine, if quiet, during the day. He settled back into their routine easily, eating breakfast and going about the tasks Dean set him to without fuss. Adam relaxed, too, eventually, reading or flipping channels while Dean worked.

But even so, Sam had some bad dreams when they got back to Bobby's for the nights. After their third full day at the house, Dean woke to find himself sleeping sans his customary blanket of little brother. Usually Sam's nightmares woke Dean; if the dreams didn't, the subsequent clinging did. Only rarely did Dean sleep through both. He was surprised to find himself alone, so he waited for a few minutes, thinking Sam had just gone to the bathroom. When Sam didn't return, Dean got up and went looking for him.

He checked the bathroom first and finding it empty, headed downstairs to the kitchen in case Sam had heard Bobby up and about and wanted a glass of water. The kitchen was dark as was the library. There was no long lump stretched out on the sofa or crammed into the recliner.

Doing his best not to panic, Dean took the stairs two at a time and opened the door to Adam's room, intending to roust his youngest brother from bed so that he could help Dean look for Sam outside.

But there was no need. Sam was with Adam, one leg hanging off the side of the bed, while Adam was pressed against the wall on the other side of the mattress. Sam had one enormous paw splayed in the middle of the kid's back—whether comforting him or holding him in place, it was hard to tell. But they both seemed to be sound asleep.

Dean backed out of the room.

The next morning Dean raised an eyebrow at his brothers as they wandered into the kitchen together.

"You two sleep well?" he asked.

Sam's face was drawn, expression oddly closed. He didn't look at Dean, and Dean felt his stomach tighten as his brother sat at his place and began to pour his cereal. Dean looked at Adam.

Adam was biting his lip, glancing from Sam back to Dean. "Yeah. Kinda." He looked at Sam again. "I, uh, had a … nightmare, I guess. And when I woke up, Sam was there. He got in bed with me and…" Here Adam huffed out a breath that sounded part amused and part freaked out. "He wouldn't let me get up. I wanted to, I don't know," he moved his shoulders uneasily, "walk, or something, but Sam wouldn't let me. Just kept patting me and saying 'Adam' and not letting me get around him." He gave Sam a half-hearted scowl that his brother ignored, shoveling cereal into his mouth. "It was weird. And annoying." Now he shrugged again. "I finally gave up and lay back down. I guess I fell asleep."

"Sammy?"

Sam went on eating, not acknowledging Dean's question.

Dean frowned. "Well, you were both snoring like chainsaws when I finally realized where Sam had gone off to," he lied. "So I guess you slept some." His eyes went to Sam again. "Sammy, you gonna be OK today?"

When Sam didn't look at him again, Dean reached out and caught his brother's chin in his hand. The glare Sam leveled at him took Dean by surprise, but he tried not to show it. "Don't ignore me, kiddo," Dean said sharply. "You gonna be able to stay awake today?" he asked again.

Sam nodded shortly, pulling himself free of Dean's grip. He picked up his empty bowl and took it to the sink, smacking it down on the counter with a clank before stomping out of the room.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Adam, who returned it. "So I'm thinking a nap may be in order this afternoon."

xxxx

Sam's bad mood came and went erratically over the next couple of days, as they packed up and moved from Bobby's back to their own place. Eventually Dean realized that in addition to being somewhat anxious about the move, Sam was also frustrated. The two in combination were making Sam incredibly grumpy.

There had been several times when Sam was asked a question or when he needed something that his mouth would open as he worked to find the words and get them out. When he couldn't do what he wanted, Sam would throw out a punch or a push, sometimes hurling what he was holding at the person he was trying to communicate with. None of these modes of expression worked with his family, and he spent a fair amount of time both before and after the movie in his own version of "time out."

In a weird way, though, this felt like progress to Dean. Sam had always been verbally expressive, and the fact that his little brother seemed to realize he was limited in that area could be seen as a step forward, Dean thought. The accompanying temper tantrums and bruises, however, were frustrating more than just Sam.

"Dude!" Adam's exasperation carried into the house from the front porch. "If you punch me again, I'm done with this, you understand? Stop. Hitting. Me." There was a moment of quiet, then. "OW! God _damn_ it, Sammy!"

The sound of the slamming screen door preceded Adam's storming through to the kitchen. Dean looked up from where he was sitting at the table. Sam was only a few steps behind his brother.

Adam startled back into a corner when he noticed Sam on his heels, fists coming up slightly like he was getting ready to be hit again.

_Enough_.

"Sam," Dean barked. He got roughly to his feet and put himself between Sam and Adam. "Stop it," he commanded.

Sam stopped. His face was contorted with anger and frustration. He thrust an accusing finger at Adam like he wanted Dean to understand that whatever it was was Adam's fault.

"Me?" Adam's cry of self-righteous indignation had Dean cringing. He didn't like the conflict - he'd never had to referee fights before. "He's the one who's leaving _bruises _whenever he doesn't get his way!" From behind Dean, Adam shouted furiously, "You can't just make stuff up as you go, Sammy! It's against the rules to jump _five spaces at time_ in checkers, you _cheater_!"

Dean closed his eyes. _Oh, for the love of…_

Sam's shriek of rage came close to splitting Dean's eardrums as his gigantic younger brother _launched _himself across the space toward Adam. Dean was so startled that he almost didn't react in time, but he just managed to get his hands up as Sam reached him, stiff-arming Sam back hard enough that Sam stumbled, landing on his butt.

"Sammy, what the _hell_?" Dean asked breathlessly, furious himself now and, frankly, worried, as well, by Sam's sudden outburst of violence.

And Sam burst into tears.

Dean and Adam stood, frozen, where they were as Sam started to sob, curling into a ball on the floor where he'd fallen and crying like the world was ending.

"Dean?" Adam whispered, inching forward.

Dean shook his head slightly and slid a step toward his brother, too. "Sammy?"

If it was possible, Sam's crying increased in volume and intensity at the sound of his brother's voice.

"Hey, kiddo," Dean said again, crossing the kitchen slowly. He crouched down next to Sam, slipping his fingers through Sam's hair. "Hey, buddy, it's OK." Dean looked at Adam, who had crept after him.

Adam reached out and put a hand on Sam's knee. "It's OK, Sam," he agreed. "I'm not mad. Not really," he admitted.

Nothing they said seemed to make a difference, though, and Sam continued to cry, harsh, gut wrenching sobs until he finally wore himself out there on the kitchen floor.

When Sam's crying transitioned into shuddering hiccups, Adam got up and filled a glass with water while Dean eased Sam up into a sitting position.

"Here you go, tiger," Dean said, taking the cup from Adam and supporting it while Sam reached out with shaky hands.

Sam took a few sips and then relaxed into Dean, wrung out. He raised swollen eyes to Adam.

"'d'm," he whispered.

Adam took it for what it was. "I know, Sammy. I'm sorry, too, OK?" He hesitated. "Are you OK?"

Sam's face clenched and more tears spilled out of his eyes, though he didn't start to cry in earnest again.

Dean sighed. "It's frustrating, huh, Sammy?" he said.

Sam knuckled his eyes emphatically, if wearily, as he nodded.

Dean took a deep breath. "Well, even though it's true, that doesn't mean you can take it out on Adam. You know that," Dean said as gently and firmly as he could.

Sam sniffed his understanding.

"Come on." Dean heaved Sam to his feet. "Let's got to Uncle Bobby's for dinner tonight, OK? You got that picture you drew for him, kiddo?"

Face already clearing, Sam nodded and ran off to fetch it.

Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his head, and he squinted at Adam. "Just so you know, I always let him jump however many spaces he wants when we play checkers."

He thought maybe he deserved the shove he got from Adam before the kid stomped out of the room.

xxxx

Once the house rules on checkers had been clarified, the game became something of an obsession with Sam and Adam. Adam had decided that if Sam could jump an unlimited number of spaces, then, in fairness he should be able to as well. Sam had been somewhat taken aback by Adam's insistence on equal treatment, more accustomed to Dean's and Bobby's indulgence in such matters. But the challenge of an opponent who met him move for move proved to be just the distraction Sam needed. He changed the rules regularly, and Adam rolled with whatever Sam threw at him as long as he got the same advantage. The truth was, whatever his brothers were playing was no longer technically "checkers" at all. And Dean refused to get pulled into the insanity.

Sam and Adam were currently engrossed in a game that seemed to involve pieces that flew, while Dean tried to balance the books for the salvage yard. Damn Bobby and his refusal to keep receipts, Dean thought with a huff, searching his memory for a part the man would have bought on the 18th for 15.69.

"Angel," Sam said across Dean's increasing mutters.

"What?" Dean's head came up in surprise at Sam's use of a new word. He looked at his brother.

"Angel," Sam said again, pointing helpfully.

Without thinking about it, Dean turned in response and then staggered up from the desk in surprise when he saw a man standing in the doorway. With a swift motion, he threw open the drawer next to him and pulled out the gun he kept there. He pointed at the intruder's head.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded. Dean moved forward, putting himself between the joker in his hallway and his brothers. Sam was still sitting cross-legged on the floor, arm raised toward the intruder. Adam had scrambled to his feet, eyes wide.

_What the hell? _Dean hadn't heard anyone come in. He glared at the man.

One perfectly arched eyebrow rose. "I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God."

Dean's mouth opened, then closed. Opened again. And closed. _What?_

"What?"

The man didn't move farther into the house, but turned his attention to Sam.

"Hello, Sam," he said.

"Hi," said Sam.

Dean blinked. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded roughly. "Who the hell are you?"

"I told you. I am Gabriel." The _who stands in the presence of God_ remained unsaid, but it still hung there in the air between them.

There was a moment of silence.

"What do you want?" Dean barked.

At the same time, Adam squeaked, "The angel?"

"Yes," Gabriel said responding to Adam, but not to Dean.

"An angel?" Dean scoffed.

"Yes," Gabriel said again.

"You expect us to believe…" Dean started incredulously.

But before he could finish the thought, there was a sound like the rushing wind and he saw, flared against the wall behind the man in front of him, the shadow of a pair of enormous wings, stretched out from one end of the room to the other, bending up onto the ceiling, dark and breath-taking.

_Oh my G-…._

"Angel," said Sam.

"Holy." _Crap_ was the word Adam normally would have used to finish that phrase. But the kid faltered over it and managed shakily, "God."

"Yes," said the angel, looking oddly pleased. "Exactly."

"Wh- , what are you doing here?" Dean asked. He felt his heart, which had just started to slow after having been startled into pounding by the appearance of a strange man in the house, begin to hammer again. There was an angel. In his house.

_Go to sleep, baby. There are angels watching over you._

"I have been sent," said Gabriel. He looked at Sam.

Dean couldn't stop himself from planting himself more firmly between the angel and his brother.

"I'm not here to hurt your brother, Dean," Gabriel said gently. "I have come to explain what happened to Sam. To help with his healing."

Dean swallowed heavily. Help with healing Sam?

The angel nodded as if he knew what Dean was thinking, that Dean had acquiesced to hearing what he had to say.

"Your brother was taken by Lucifer."

Before Dean could really digest this, Adam said, "Lucifer?" The kid had approached without Dean realizing it and was standing slightly behind him, but at his side. "Satan had Sammy?" he asked.

"Yes," said the angel, eyes going over Dean's shoulder to Adam as he answered the question. "Lucifer believed that your brother was the key to his final victory over this world. He believed that if he could get Sam to say 'yes' to possessing him, that he would finally be successful in defeating the Father's hold over the earth."

_Possessing? _Dean didn't want to think about that. "Why?" Dean rasped. Sam had been taken by Satan. Had been hurt by him, tortured.

"There is an ancient manuscript that claims to foretell the end of the world. In this 'prophecy' Lucifer would fight Michael and win if he was in possession of a human vessel. He believed that Sam was that vessel."

Dean looked back at Sam, who was still sitting on the floor, watching quietly as the conversation took place above him. He met Dean's eyes, and Dean felt a jolt of connection, realized that Sam understood exactly what was being said.

Dean turned back to the angel. "Why would he think that?"

"He believed he had set into motion a series of events that would result in your brother being the perfect vessel for him. And he believed that you would be a vessel for Michael. That the two of you would provide the bodies needed for a great battle, which he – Lucifer – would ultimately win."

Dean was so dumbfounded he couldn't speak.

"Michael, the archangel?" Adam asked for him. "He believed that Michael would… possess Dean to make him his vessel?"

Gabriel nodded serenely. "Yes."

Dean felt himself bristle. "No one is possessing me."

"No," said the angel. "Nor would Michael require it of you."

"But if Lucifer was going to possess Sam, wouldn't Michael have to…" Adam started.

"What Lucifer thinks is true and what is actually true are two very different things." Here the angel looked at Sam again. "And whatever this purported prophecy asserted, it did not happen. Because Sam did not say 'yes.' Lucifer needed the vessel to agree. Sam would not."

Dean frowned, trying to think it through. "Is this… Is this tied to the angel/demon war Dad told Bobby about? My mom… my mom's deal. I don't understand what happened …."

"Sam happened," the angel said. "Because of who he is, those things that were set in motion several years ago—events that were intended to start this so-called war—bypassed him. Those who would have used him discounted his worth and set him aside. When Lucifer thought to pick Sam up and put him once more into play, Sam would not bend. He stood firm in his defiance of the tempter."

"No," said Sam.

The angel smiled at Sam. "Quite right."

Dean's eyes went from Gabriel to Sam and back again.

"'Because of who he is,'" Dean repeated. "You mean, because of the accident? Because Sam's…." Dean trailed off.

Gabriel didn't respond, just watched Dean unblinkingly.

"What if Sam hadn't almost drowned?" Dean started softly, almost afraid to pose the question. "What if - ?"

Again the angel was silent.

"Would it have been different? If I hadn't… If Sam was…?" He couldn't voice the rest of his thought.

"Sam is who he was meant to be," the angel said gently.

"But my dad said the demons thought there would be a war and that Sam was part of it. And obviously Lucifer thought he could…."

"This is not the first time my brother and his followers have thought they exerted more power or influence over the events of this world than they actually did," Gabriel interrupted evenly. "Nor will it be the last."

"You don't seem worried," Adam ventured.

Gabriel simply smiled at Adam. "No," he agreed. He turned to Sam.

Sam came to his feet as the angel approached, face still and eyes watchful, though he didn't appear to be afraid.

Dean could only watch when Gabriel side-stepped him, tracking the angel's movement with his eyes and his body, but unable to make himself intervene. There was something in him that wanted to reach out, to stop this stranger from getting close to his brother; but there was another part of him that was willing to take a risk, to trust this being with Sam in a way Dean had never trusted anyone else with his brother.

Sam's eyes never left the angel. Without a word, Gabriel reached out and placed his palm against Sam's cheek. Sam's lashes fluttered closed at the contact, expression strangely peaceful.

Dean watched, breath caught in his throat. Then he blinked and Gabriel was gone.

xxxx

The biggest change resulting from Gabriel's visit was Sam's renewed ability to talk. In the fluttering silence left in the wake of the angel's exit Sam had said, "Can we have ice cream for snack?" before sitting down and returning his attention to the checkerboard.

His brothers had stared at him in shock, mouths slightly ajar. Finally, Dean had managed, "Sure, Sammy," and Adam had kind of stumbled back to his place on the floor and sinking down, finishing the game in a daze.

There was no big, dramatic revelation from Sam in the days that followed. Instead, he dropped small, but devastating bombs into his conversations with Dean or Adam or Bobby.

"Sometimes?" Sam started one night as Dean was getting him ready for bed. "He pretended he was you." Sam's brow knit in uncertainty as he climbed under the covers. "He looked just like you." He looked up into Dean's face, studying it. "But he wasn't you. He wasn't you, because you would never say those mean things. He said bad, mean things to try to make me let him be me. He said you didn't love me, that you didn't want to take care of me all the time."

Dean could feel the constriction of his lungs cutting off his air supply. "Sammy…"

"But that's not true," Sam said without hesitation. "Is it, Dean?" He shifted beneath the sheets. "We take care of each other. That's what brothers do."

Dean cleared his throat. "That's right, Sammy," he said shakily. "We take care of each other."

Sam nodded at the confirmation. "I _told_ him to stop being a liar," he said. "I told him that he was a stupid-face and that he was a bad man to lie," Sam went on and Dean could hear the rising agitation in his brother's voice. "And he… he said I was too retarded to know anything, but I _told_ him that you said that only _losers _say that word and that he was a loser and a bad man and…." Sam seemed to have run out of steam, trailing off. Then he bit his lip gingerly, one finger coming up to touch a place where it had been split open weeks before.

Dean reached out and touched the place, too, bringing Sam's eyes to his. "You were right, Sammy," he said softly. "He was a loser and a bad man. And I'm so sorry he hurt you." He paused, resting his hand against Sam's cheek. "But I'm so proud of you, too, kiddo. Proud of you for remembering how much I love you. For saying 'no.'"

Sam smiled slightly, tucking his head into the pillow. "Will you stay with me?" he asked sleepily. He tugged at Dean's arm, grip light, but unyielding.

Dean shook his head, faking reluctance as always, and toed off his shoes. "Shove over, sasquatch," he ordered.

Sam did as ordered happily, giving Dean just enough time and room to get stretched out on his back before crowding into his space, one hand getting a tight hold on Dean's t-shirt just over his heart.

"Adam should sleep with us, too," Sam suggested drowsily, eyes heavy-lidded as he looked at Dean.

Dean's sputtering shout of laughter startled Sam into raising his head from the pillow and blinking bemusedly at his brother.

"I don't think so," Dean said

With a long look and a final shrug of acceptance, Sam flopped back down. "'K."

Fortunately, the sound didn't bring Adam into the bedroom, and Dean crooked an arm up and over Sam's head. "Go to sleep, bud," he said, fingers cording carefully through his brother's hair. "I'll be here."

xxxx

"On the contrary, who are you, O man, who answers back to God? The thing molded will not say to the molder, 'Why did you make me like this,' will it? Or does not the potter have a right over the clay, to make from the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for common use?" Rom. 9:20-21.


End file.
